


Discord

by BezKa



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Many AUs, Modern AU, Various stories, collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 24,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26647165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BezKa/pseuds/BezKa
Summary: Sometimes I write for our bunch in the discord server. Decided to upload these badly written short stories. Most don't connect with eachother, unless specified otherwise. Random aus, sometimes prompts from friends, sometimes vent writing.
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 72





	1. Wilson is t i r e d

**Author's Note:**

> Modern AU, we were being whiney on the server.

_I'm dying  
_ _Of hunger_  
  
Maxwell glanced at his phone, then sighed. Of course that bumbling science man had to sleep through his alarm and leave late without any breakfast.  
  
 _What do you expect me to do about it?_

_Just- teleport me some food, would you?_

_I'm not an actual magician you know_

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

Maxwell couldn't help his grin. God, Higgsbury can pretend to be a gentleman all he wants, but he's still a dork.

..................................

Wilson closed the door and Maxwell immediatly knew to brace himself. He still flinched at the long whine that sounded just before Higgsbury entered the room- the tired man sweaty and gross, with his shirt and vest sticking to his skin.   
Maxwell was prepared of course, so he was in perfect position on the couch to catch the small man that dropped on him unceremoniously. Putting his arms around him, he adjusted a bit so they both laid across the couch, Wilson fit snugly between his legs, face smothered against his chest.

It was quiet for a bit. 

"...is this enough?"

"Pbbbbttt. What you mean?" 

"You're all sweaty. It's disgusting. Go take a shower."

Another whine. God. Was he dealing with a child?

"At least tell me how it went then?"

"Dunno... It was awkward and boring and the questions were stupid..."

Sigh. No comprehensive conversation to be had. 

"Wilson."

"Mmm."

"Shower. Now."

"But it's comfyyyyy-"

"In your soaked clothes?"

"...they're drying slowly"

"I can forgive you for being a slob but I draw the line on the smell. Go wash that arse of yours."

Higgsbury dared to wiggle his hips, very much with his ass in Max's view. Little shit.

"You're just jealous~"

Maybe. Or maybe not, since Wilson's booty belonged to him now as well, so he _techinically_ had a great ass. 

"I'll go to shower but you gotta go with me."

"Fine. Because you managed to wipe your face all over my clothes anyway."

Maxwell conveniently forgot about his own arms encompassing small man's shoulders and holding him completely voluntarily. 

"Get up then, mister."

"Can't you carry me?"

The question sounded so innocent. Such tiny whine, as if he didn't know perfectly well that he was a heavy bugger and it was a miracle any time Maxwell could pull off all these crazy positions with him. Speaking of positions, his leg was falling asleep. 

"Wilson get off of me. Or I'll shave that damn hair of yours"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Wanna bet, pal?"

Finally, Higgsbury climbed off of him. His clothes were now damp too, stinking of the other man. God, he hated summer.


	2. Chill with the Netflix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: The boys wanting to binge something on Netflix but can't decide between them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU: Aka Bez can't write about Netflix bc who has Netflix anyway???

"It shouldn't be a problem for you, mister big show off, I bet all the villain songs would be perfect for you- so I won't budge on this, we're watching Disney!"

"And you can sing the background soundtrack while we watch something good, since you will sound terrible anyway. We're watching absolutely anything but Disney, you damn child"

The ride home was getting intense. Why oh why in that way though.

"You're on a thin ice here, buster! Not even Elsa will save you!"

"Can you stop with the damn references?! You clearly watched too many of these, you don't need to watch them again."

"Do you also look at pictures only once? Masterpieces are worth going back to."

"That's why we're watching Matrix. Or any movie a bit more serious than talking snowman on his adventures"

Wilson's face might have looked hilarious, but he was too busy being fucking offended. That's not what Frozen is about!

"If you're up to something serious we can watch a documentary on artificial intelligence"

"Please goodness no. As if I didn't hear enough about WX already"

"Then let's watch Tangled. It's not that serious"

"Except the fucking dying scene. And the ridiculous magic stuff."

They finally pulled up to their house. They got out of their car, still arguing.

When they finally sat down at the TV it was the moment of devastation for Wilson to realize none of the Disney movies were on Netflix. Maxwell almost felt happy, until Wilson declared he'll be buying all the movies on DVD right now. 

"We were supposed to watch something together. Are you really going to be sitting on your phone the entire evening?"

That only escalated into another bickering fit and just maybe a tickle fight. 

After another three failed attempts at convincing one another they came to one conclusion-

"We're watching one episode of some show and decide if we want to continue. If not, we pick another. Good?"

"Fine... Let's just put on the most recommended one first."

And thus, they ended up watching Good Omens together and counting all the gay scenes. 

They lost count. 

And fell asleep on the couch.  
  
Good for them.


	3. So sicc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: "take your medicine"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU: Aka overused prompts are overused for a reason you know?

Maxwell woke up in the middle of the night. It was uncommon- since he had his massive heating pad always clinging to him at night (unless it decided to work itself stupid on experiments) his sleep very much gained on quality. He will never admit it out loud, but he really was a cuddler. How embarrassing. 

He reached across the bed, where his dear lover was bunching all the covers. Used to finding the bed empty because of "sudden inspiration", he was actually surprised to find the warm pile there. He frowned.

Normally Wilson would be hugging him. He always was, even in summer, so he should now, in the middle of winter. Instead, he was cuddling with the damn covers ('I'm right here!' his conscience screamed and he ignored it) almost hiding under them. He was breathing deeply, clearly asleep yet somehow not resting. Maxwell put his hand to Wilson's forehead.

Of course, it was sweaty and hot. Just great. 

Maxwell got up and slowly went to the kitchen, searching through cabinets. They had some cold medicine- though he doubted how effective it would be. Better give him some tea as well. 

As he searched, he couldn't help but grumble. Of course the damn idiot thought he was protected from the cold by his damn beard. After their (quite heated) conversation about it, Wilson shaved it all off to prove him he will get cold. And it seems he was right- but he should have worn more warm clothes if he knew it beforehand. Maxwell gained nothing from his new knowledge of Higgsbury's face fur. 

Finally he managed to find the bottle. He got the spoon from a small drawer and went back to their bedroom. Time for the worst part. 

He turned the light on, and the reaction was immediate. Damn whining had started before Wilson managed to even move, soon covering himself in the warm blankets.  
  
"Wilson."

No response. Sigh.

"Wilson get up." 

"...dond wannn go nu school..."

Maxwell actually laughed at this. He crouched next to the bed from Wilson's side and shook him. 

"C'mon pal, only for a second"

"Max?... What time is it?"

"No idea. It's late. Just take some medicine and you can go back to sleep. "

"Why... Medicine?"

"You got a fever. Don't know how you accomplished it but you're sick." 

"...admit it."

What was he blabbing about again? 

"I love you. Now, take your medicine."

"Not that. Say my beard- uh. It... Something."

Despite Higgsbury forgetting what he was talking about, Maxwell knew damn well what he wanted. He considered arguing, but gave it up quickly. 

"Sigh... Oh Wilson Percival Higgsbury, your magnificent beard is so... Hairy. Will you take the medicine now?"  
  
  



	4. Sometimes it happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vent writing results in certain type of works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell moodswings are harsh on me?

Sad. 

It took a moment to realise that Wilson was not mad at him, or ignoring him by some malicious reason- he was simply sitting on that damn stump, looking with dull eyes on the ground, that everworking brain of his overheating with processing emotion. 

Wilson was sad.

Why?

There could be million if not more reasons. The man had lived enough lifetimes and survived such horrors it could be anything. It wasn't like Wilson though- he might not be happy often, but he usually had at least a reason to sulk. 

Did Maxwell do something? Quickly scanning his mind, he found nothing out of ordinary. A small fight over hunting gone wrong, collecting wood and eating together, but no big fights or important loses. So, it could be anything, or nothing at all. 

Silently, he approached the hunched man. Wilson shifted slightly. That means he heard him. Good.

Silence stretched out for a while. Wilson didn't seem bothered, looked almost comfortable with the quiet around him. 

Maxwell came closer, laid his hand on scientist's shoulder. Small sigh came from the short man.

They stayed like that for a while. Finally, Wilson turned around. 

"Don't ask. I don't know either. Just... A weird day"  
  
Maxwell nodded. Took his hand off Wilson and offered it palm up. Wilson took it. 

He lead them to a small clearing, where he recently cut trees and dug up stumps. It was flat and green, and disturbingly empty. Got out the straw roll he had with him just in case they needed to run from Bearger (autumn could pretend to be peaceful all it wanted, but he knew better) and spread it out. Wilson just observed him with uninterested expression. So alien on the ever curious man.

He put his hand on Wilson's lower back and slowly guided him down. He laid on the roll first, and pulled the man onto his chest, fitting him on the small space, to rest scientist's cheek on his lower rib. Wilson accepted everything without comment- indifferent to the world around him. When in position however, he pulled his arms to hold onto Maxwell's sides- a measly attempt of a hug. He put one hand across Wilson's shoulders and the other in his hair. 

It was still silent, but Wilson finally relaxed. Properly, not like before where he appeared lax and pliant to any force that could colide with him but so, so stiff at the core- no, he finally rested, took a deep breath and let his mind wander again. Sometimes his eyes would fill with tears that refused to fall, despite Wilson not fighting them, sometimes he'd clench his teeth and go slack again. Maxwell slowly pet the distressed human laying on him. 

There was no need for talking. Only comfort.


	5. Still sad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vent writing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sing with me: Saddy sad, sadun saddo sud... Sedde edde sad!

Wilson stormed out of the camp. In a random direction. 

He thought he'd make do with people around him. He hadn't told anyone he was leaving. He didn't plan on being out long anyway- it was all just a temper tantrum after all. He'll be done in few minutes, maybe an hour maximum and he'll be back to doing his chores in no time. Angrily ignoring everyone around him.

After being stranded for a few lifetimes in various worlds with original methods of murdering him and making sure to plaster his mind with trauma, all spent completely alone with a lack of matching intelligence of a human to accompany his adventures, only fleeting meetings with random people and creatures locked up here and there, one would think Wilson was lonely. 

One would be right- Wilson missed company and wished for a friend that would reply to his questions in a meaningful way, someone that would tell him of their life and listen in return.

What Wilson did not miss, was a bunch of random unmatched humans and not-exactly-to-absolutely-not-humans, screaming and arguing at any point of the day, searching for ways to make him miserable. Wilson locked himself away for a reason. Noone ever knew of his preferences so he was never shunned, nor he intended to reveal them. No, his solitude was for a completely different reason- and that reason presented itself perfectly this morning.  
  


Willow touched his stuff without asking. Claiming she "wanted to make sure he didn't hide some valuable resources for his stupid experiments". He could understand the lack of privacy in their situation. He couldn't understand the audacity to assume he would keep stuff that could save their lives hidden or calling his experiments stupid. 

How dare they?!

Who brought them out to the unfriendly water again?! After fighting countless times with a Tiger Shark, Quacken and slaying sealnado, he managed to bring himself to create a boat kit, write everything down, drown several times alone all so they could explore the island which's appearance messed him up the most in the first place.

After all that, after they explored the mystery land, found invaluable resources, made their life somewhat easier and more colorful, SOMEONE DARED TO CALL HIS EXPERIMENTS STUPID?!

Not all experiments can be successful. Most of them aren't. That's what they're for. Gaining experience. That's where the name's from. 

Wilson was crying, but whatever. He did that sometimes. It helped to relieve the tension and get all these nasty feelings outside. 

God, he hated people. He came to care about their numerous bunch and almost townlike camp, but he still hated the concept of... A crowd gathered and living in one space. It was awful. He spent all his normal life alone. Then several hundred years in constant, alone. And then suddenly Maxwell is in his camp and they're working together. That would be fine, they knew eachother before, they fought and argued but it was just them. They figured it out in the end, and keeping away from one person was easy. Almost impossible to accomplish when there was 17 of nosy individuals, all worried for one another.  
  
And so it seemed to be impossible now, too. Speak of the devil. 

Maxwell, out of all people, was walking with a full krampus sack of what was most likely rocks, judging by the pickaxe wielding clones behind him. Just great, to have him, after they drifted apart among all these people to see him in this state. It's not like they didn't help eachother with panic attacks and haven't shared tearful evenings together- it was just embarrassing, after all that time of not having a moment for eachother and being too proud to approach the other to ask for some company to have the older man see him like this. 

Maxwell of course stopped his trek to watch him catiously. Wilson tried to ignore him. Just walk away, you dumbass. Pretend you didn't see anything. You've done that plenty of times already. 

Maxwell didn't. Instead, he raised his cane and one after the other, killed off his clones, gathering the leftover fuel. Then set the heavy bag down and grabbed Wilson by the shoulder.

He shrugged it off. He really didn't need any sympathy right now. He voiced his thoughts. 

"What do you need then?"

"I want to be alone."

Silence again. So damn quiet. Did Maxwell gain some kind of pleasure from watching him struggle with anxiety? Was a sight of someone covered in tears and snot, insisting they want to sulk even more that amusing?

"Go to the forest then. I mined the petrified trees and Woodie went to the other one to gather wood. Noone will be going there in a while"

Wilson glanced at the tall man tiredly. That actually sounded logical. What a pleasant surprise. So he just nodded and went on his way. He heard the man behind him pick up the sack full of rocks, and trod off towards the camp.

.................

Waking up from his nap, noticing the slowly setting sun, Wilson considered thanking Maxwell. There actually wasn't anyone to bother him, and the lovely solitude did wonders for his fried nerves. 

Yeah, the magician certainly deserved some gratitude.


	6. Finally not sad!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff because I needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So technically vent writing? No idea.

Maxwell came back to the camp to the slow singing. At first he didn't recognize the voice- it was much softer than the Viking though, so there was no fight right now. 

It looked completely different as well. Wilson was sitting next to several bedrolls, where all the kids were sprawled. Even Abigail draped herself across everyone's legs and hummed softly along, barely making a sound. 

Webber was grabbing at the bedroll with his spider legs and cuddling into his vargling with clawed hands. Next to him, Wendy was laying on her back and staring tiredly into the distance, her face as always emotionless and passive, although she was relaxed and clearly nearing the dreamland. Walter was already sleeping next to her- small Woby cuddled to his side and keeping him apart from Wurt that fought sleep off her eyes with angry blinking. 

In front of them was Wilson, half humming, half singing some old or maybe made-up tunes, quiet and swaying softly, almost lost in his own world despite clearly meaning to sing for the kids. 

Children in the constant usually refused such treatment. They survived alone just as well as they did in a group, and being referred to as helpless and vulnerable was as annoying as it was untrue. They did not act like children they should be, molded by the world and harsh treatment from creatures of the constant. 

It seems they made an exception tonight. 

Wilson was singing something about Bee queen marrying off her son to the spider princess. What a load of bullshit.  
  
Maxwell softened his steps and tried to be as quiet as possible while passing them. Wilson only gave him a glance while he was humming some sort of bridge in his made up song, acknowledging his arrival. Maxwell went towards the icebox and kept everything he did as noiseless as he could. 

"Bearger loves to sleep in winter,  
MooseGoose sleeps with head in wing,  
In your back there is no splinter,  
So why won't you fall asleep?"

Phah. Higgsbury had such weird thought process. How does he come up with such lyrics?

"You might think that Deerclops never  
Closes his singular eye,  
You would be as wrong as ever,  
He often sleeps as you or I"

Well that's not true. Unless you found a way to purposefully put the beast to sleep, Deerclops never rested a minute in it's life. Wilson was just spouting gibberish.

Wilson kept his random songs up. It took a moment for Maxwell to realise he was staring at the open icebox unmoving and just listening to the singing scientist- he closed the door hurriedly, the loud noise earning him a harsh glare from Wilson. 

Mumbled apology and quick retreat later, Maxwell found himself on his own straw roll, still able to hear Wilson humming to the kids. There was an obvious lack of other noises at their camp, so he couldn't help but register the words.

"And once Malbatross makes few rounds,  
Flying across the sky  
He will return to deep sea levels,  
To rest his wings and miiind-"

Maxwell's eyes were closed. Obviously. He was trying to sleep. And, honestly, it wasn't that difficult, with Wilson's high voice flowing through the simple and non-demanding melody, words quite random but still containing some sort of meaning, and easy rhymes. 

Soon, the words got tangled together and only Wilson's caring voice echoed through his mind as he fell asleep.


	7. Let's be friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson meets someone new!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know

When Wilson discovered he can't bring the eyebone to the caves he was devastated. He was meaning to go down, unlike other members of the camp, to spend the summer exploring and mapping out the underground. It had to be done, and maybe there were people better suited for the job, but there was a very clear need of someone tending to the camp protected with flingomatics, constantly getting fuel and food, some survivors going to the Oasis in hopes of getting trinkets that could be exchanged for gold. 

That left Wilson the only one willing to go down. It isn't like he didn't before- he just never enjoyed finding the remnants of ancient civilisations and the even stronger darkness's influence on his poor psyche. He was obviously owed Chester as company, and way to bring any possible valuables along with him. 

But he went down yet again, to discover the eyebone magically gone from his pocket and firmly planted in the ground above, Chester patiently waiting for his return. 

Wilson tried several things. He put the eyebone in the backpack, tied it to his belt, held in hand and even clenched between his teeth- only to have it zapp away when he took last steps down, Chester refusing to even glance into the entrance. 

He begrudgingly gave up.

........................

The caves were as disturbing and disgusting as he remembered. The mushtrees grew and glowed slightly, the red ones ripe and shedding spores. He would consider the view beautiful, some long time ago, but now it only reminded him of how many times he seeked safety in their light but it was just a bit too little, not really enough, just a bit more and Charlie would have not reached him-.

And the yawning dark void that surrounded them. Darkness was terrifying in this world. 

He wished the furry chest was here with him. Chester was always a good company. His merry boinks never annoying, his pants and glancing eyebone reassuring. Wilson felt terribly alone, despite crowd of people above him, struggling to survive.

..................  
  
After yet another rain of rocks, Wilson was slowly following the snurtle that ate away at the minerals, collecting any bigger slops of its slime. The stuff was as disgusting as it was interesting- the thing exploded when lit on fire and Wilson obviously saw a lot of potential there. So he just followed the hungry creature, hoping to get his due without fighting.

Something gleamed behind one of the mounds that snurtles lived in. Immediatly, he thought of gems. They were always useful. They got plenty from numerous hound attacks, but every gem that could be inserted into Winona's devices was useful- so he abandoned the yucky creature and went after the treasure, before it could get eaten by another slug-like abomination.  
  
It was not a gem. Instead, Wilson found himself staring into the eyes of a fish. In a glass fishbowl. It wasn't swimming around, just floating in the water. It looked back at him. 

Wilson approached it slowly. It was... An interesting discovery. Was this another trinket? Or a critter, just a pet waiting to be adopted? He crouched. Grabbed the bowl and the fish inside swirled in a circle. He heard something approaching.

The wet, flopping sounds would sound similar to an overgrown frog, weren't it for the soft whine that echoed with every jump the whatever it was took, and Wilson had to contain his scream and force his grip to not drop the fish while jerking up.

"Eh, eh, eh, eh..."

The... Green thingy was coming straight for him. Wilson knew better than to disregard small creatures. This one reached his knee, a round fishy creature, bouncing on it's fins and leaving slime behind. It had a mouth full of sharp, protruding teeth and an antennae on top. It's bulged eyes were pointed in two different directions and it had useless fins on different parts of its body. It seemed to lack any nose and it was gasping for each breath and it's lolling tongue reminded him painfully of Chester.

Lo and behold, it stopped several steps from him just like Chester would and filled the air with wet panting. If anything else gasped that way he would assume it sick.  
  
He dared to step closer. The creature didn't even look at him. He reached out and touched it. It didn't react in any negative way, just sighed. It was however, covered in disgusting slime. He nudged it's lip, daring to hope- 

It opened it's maw. Just like Chester, it was empty on the inside. When he stepped away, it closed it's mouth. He walked away a bit. It followed, it's short fishy tail helping it proppel itself forward. He inspected it closer again. At the end of the antennae, there was a thingy that reminded him of a lightbulb plant tip. He put one of his collected ones inside it's mouth. To his delight, the bulby thing at the end of the head thingy lit up. 

"Well" Wilson said, "I think we're gonna get along just fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can throw some prompts in the comments btw. No guarantee it will happen tho.


	8. Maxwell likes to lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know we got songs for the game and Maxwell boldly states that he DOES NOT sing, but we know this man refuses to admit he enjoys anything other than typical rich-man idiocy.   
> Prompt was: Max singing and Wilson secretly watching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing stories when you can't fall asleep actualy works to make me tired and sleepy. Who knew I would enjoy writing so much?

Wilson looked at Maxwell with worry. The man has been completely insane for the last few hours, just running around killing shadows while his useless clones stood there draining his sanity. 

He looked all ruffled and his suit was stained black from all the nightmare fuel he collected, eyes wide and jumping from one object to the next. But he seemed fine- he killed the shadows quickly and smoothly, not letting them even touch him. He had to get used to it, after all, he was the main user of the nightmare fuel in the camp, it was only fair he had to collect it.

But it seemed that now Maxwell finally dismissed his clones and holding his head dragged himself towards the camp. He didn't say anything, went straight to the icebox instead to gobble up some leftover meat. 

Wilson followed him with his eyes, not quite sure what to do. Maxwell regained sanity quite quickly, and they managed to steal only one tam o shanter this winter, usually used by Webber or Wortox. Wilson considered making a top hat, but before he could move the magician announced he'll be leaving for a while. 

"After you just fought a horde of nightmares? Is that really a good idea?"

"As if I'm going to work more Higgsbury. Let me rest, will you?"

...............  
  
Wilson did let him rest. Under constant observation, but still. The man must be really tired, cause he managed to fool him with a bushhat three times already- encouraging Wilson to follow him even more, because such behavior just asked for some unexpected monster visit. 

Maxwell rested among some flowers- not impressive. He could pick them and make a garland- but it seemed he preferred just sitting there hunched, looking at butterflies.

Wilson got comfortable hiding with his wonderful camouflage invention and kept watch.

..............

He started to doze off a bit when he heard something. At first he wasn't sure what he was hearing- then managed to locate the source. Maxwell was patting his leg, in a way to make as much noise as possible. Wilson raised an eyebrow.

Then, he realised Maxwell was beating out a rythm. 

Then, he started humming. 

Wilson stared mesmerised. Maxwell nodded his head to the beat, humming the unknown song to the wind. It must be pretty old, because Wilson never heard it before. 

Maxwell opened his mouth. First words, randomly choosen between the hummed verses joined this small performance- a mess only Maxwell could understand, only Maxwell knew all the secrets to decode.  
  
Wilson couldn't look away.

Maxwell closed his eyes and finally started singing the song properly. It was one of those lament songs with a fast beat. This one being about breaking into a bar and stealing barrel of booze. Why did Maxwell know such a song?

It didn't matter. His long fingers tapped with the tune, his head nodding with stronger words and sometimes swaying side to side with his upper body. The scientist had never seen the man so relaxed and free. 

Suddenly, it felt very wrong to be here. Snooping around during Maxwell's private time, looking at things he wasn't supposed to know.

But it was so hard to leave. Maxwell's voice, deep and a bit growly from all that nicotine, sounding careless and free, was such a hypnotic sound- surely a few more minutes won't hurt anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little thing received a fanart from the one and only Ectotoxic. Check it out here: https://dontstarve-maxwil-imeanmaxwell.tumblr.com/post/630747344546283520/this-is-a-tribute-to-kingabezka-and-her-wonderful
> 
> Thank you so much, you don't know how much it means to me.


	9. Touchy feely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: Max getting a hug for the first time in eons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pavloved myself, I get sleepy when I write from all the times I wrote for friends in bed

First, there were years of sitting on a throne. Long, long years. Too long. Too many. 

Restricted and lonely. Only able to watch from afar, his useless projection not managing to send any actual sensations towards him. He stood on the grass, but felt only cold stone under his feet. He took a breath, and his lungs filled with grimy air full of floating ash from the lanterns. He moved his arms, yet still felt them bound to the armrests. 

Then, he was alone in the world, for half a day. The moment he appeared he was attacked by his creations.

Then by Wilson. 

Then almost by Charlie.

..............

The first friendly touch he received was Wilson patting him on the arm after they finished the main arch of the door. He got startled then, and they ended up having a fight, both covered in marks after severe slapping and punching session. His arm stung with the phantom touch stronger than any of his bruises. 

..............  
  
After one of the hound waves, after they managed to kill the last angry beast, he got suddenly grabbed by his sides and to his horror, his feet left the ground as he was snatched into the air. Before he could say or even understand the situation, a booming voice sounded from below.

"This a mighty battle! And a herö to save my life!"

What? Maxwell remembered through the blur shoving a dog off the Viking's back, but as everyone else, he was too focused on the battle to remember such details. Unlike Wigfrid it seems. 

"Put me down this instant! Let me go you crazy woman!"

So that may have not been nice. But it didn't seem to matter, as Wigfrid put him down, and flashed that gapped smile at him. She looked as if she knew something he didn't, which was ridiculous. 

She wouldn't stop calling him a hero the entire month.

..................

It was hard to look at Webber and not think Maxwell was the most evil person that ever existed. To let that happen to a child, one must be a particularly cruel individual. Blast that it wasn't him exactly that turned the boy into a spider hybrid, but it was him that brought the child into the constant. 

Not even the only child he brought to the constant.  
  
His relations with his niece were... Tense, to be frank. She wasn't the sweet girl he remembered her as, and he wasn't sure she even remembered him at all. All her thoughts and memories seemed focused on her sister, that now quite literally ghosted her every move. 

So when he ended up with Webber in the forest, collecting _mushrooms_ of all things, he didn't really expect to talk with him. But here they were. 

"Do you know which mushrooms are our favourite Mr. Maxwell?"

"No idea"

"Can you at least try to guess?"

"Sigh. The blue ones?"

"Nope! Try again."

Maxwell rubbed his forehead. Why did he have to engage in such ridiculous games... 

"Then the green ones. There's nothing good about the red caps"

"Yes! They really help us clear our head. It gets really scary when we stay up too long"

"Mmhmm."

Please, let the child be quiet now. Hearing this hissing voice, commenting on difficulties of being a messed up human-spider concoction was tugging at his guilt in a very specific way. He couldn't really handle this kind of talk.  
  
And it was quiet, for a while. Then the child went off about something his spider friends did, commenting on Woodie's new uncontrolled forms and how they were "all super fluffy except for the duck" and how Wilson taught him to shave properly. 

After sunset, they turned on their lamps and went after the blue caps. It was easy to find one another, surrounded with so much light. 

"We should go back now. We have enough for everyone and we wandered pretty far"

"Mhm!" Was the only response he received, so he turned towards the road they would follow to get to their slowly expanding base. 

Something brushed his hand. He snatched it and swung the light to the side, terrified of what new type of nightmare could Charlie create to attack them at night-

A sharp hiss sparked his instinct for a moment, before he realised he hit Webber on the head. He dropped to his knees immediately.

"I'm sorry kid, are you alright?" Not sure where to put his hands, just kept them hovering over the child's twitching spider legs, as Webber rubbed the spot where the lantern hit him. 

Webber kept quiet for a bit before nodding. Slowly shaking himself off from the pain, looked up at Maxwell with his numerous eyes.

"We're fine... We're sorry for startling you"

"Don't be sorry Webber. It's my fault for hitting you. But what were you trying to do?" He was tired. Everything was going pretty well, Webber happy the entire trip and seemingly not mad at him anymore. Of course he had to ruin something along the way.

"We were just... I wanted to hold your hand on the way back."

Oh. That's... Unexpected.

"Sorry, we shouldn't have-"

"No, don't worry pal, it's okay" he might have sounded a bit hurried now. But he wanted to make sure the kid didn't feel bad for anything about this situation. It _was_ Maxwell's fault after all.  
  
He slowly stood back up and reached his hand awkwardly towards the boy.

Webber just as awkwardly reached his spider paw and held on. 

They walked towards the camp in silence, but after a while Webber started to swing their hands as if they were just taking a stroll and not going through a nightmare world in the middle of the night.

...............

When Winona arrived, he got what he deserved. 

Or maybe not.

"Don't make me noogie you!"

He didn't make her. 

She did it anyway.

................  
  
Discovering how death worked under new reign was certainly interesting, but very much not enjoyable. Wilson had died and everyone expected the scientist to be gone forever- instead, a blob of ectoplasm with ridiculous hair and a frown flew over to the base 'oooooo'-ing softly and haunting random objects along the way. 

It took them a while to figure out what to do.

Now they kept the hearts ready at base, made when they had the resources to spare some blood for potential revivals.

Maxwell has just used one of those, gifted to him by the scientist himself. 

It was not the only thing he received. 

He also received a head bumping into his chest, sweaty arms around his back and awkward silence. 

Why was silence always awkward around him?

He stood there uselessly for a moment wondering what was happening before he finally caught up. 

_Wilson was hugging him._

That's... A new development. 

And it felt almost unnatural. He felt all his sharp angles biting into the other man, how Wilson's arms didn't seem to find a comfortable position due to their size differences, how his own hands hung there by his sides-

Oh! 

He put them around the man as well. Wilson let out a shaky breath, and Maxwell decided it was a right choice. It felt a bit more... Human as well. To hold the other man.  
  
It was... Hard to describe. Warm. Wilson huffed hot air into his clothes, squirmed his hands on his back and shuffled his legs. 

Can't this man stand still and let him enjoy this?

...

Is he enjoying it? Was this his actual thought? 

With startling realisation that yes, he does in fact enjoy it, he lowered them both to the ground, and didn't dare to break the embrace. Wilson moved to his lap and stayed there.

"Don't die again..."

"No promises, pal."


	10. Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: Wilson playing with Max's hair, Or vice versa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is super short bc I was tired and wanted something quick to write.

"Stop! Why are you always doing this?!"

Wilson grabbed Maxwell's wrist and pulled the offending hand out of his hair. 

"I have told you millions of times, do _not_ touch my hair"

"Is human fur really so precious to you? Are you as protective of your leg hair?"

"Well, do you want to touch it?" Wilson almost snarled at him. Talk about overreaction.

"Now that you mention it..." Wilson let go of his hand jumped away, as if he got struck by something and his reflexes had to catch up. The fury in his eyes was burning bright as firestarters lighter. 

"Never come even close to my hair. Any of it!"

Okay, now Maxwell felt a pang of regret. But mostly jealousy. His own hair has started graying ages ago, thinning out, and only clever style tricks were able to make him appear younger than he was. 

Wilson's hair however, was silky smooth and soft to the touch, scientist taking care of it more now that they had a bit some free time at camp. Cleaned properly, cut to perfect lenght, always combed and just... Shiny and begging to reach and brush your hand through the raven locks.

Maxwell's hands itched. He moved his twitching fingers behind his back, and realised he has been staring at Wilson's head for a solid minute now. In his defense, he was much, much taller than the scientist so he did so quite often-

"What is so appealing in fondling someone's hair anyway? A lot of people seem to like it for some reason"

"It feels nice" Maxwell replied. God. And the man thought he was smart? The answer was obvious. Or maybe not, with this damn hermit spending his entire life just breathing fumes in a laboratory.

Wilson's eyes had that little twinkle in them when he glanced again. Oh no.

"I think it's time for an experiment"

Shit.

.................  
  


They ended up trying out different positions, argued about the place and whether it should actually happen. 

Wilson sitting on a log placed near the fire, Maxwell in front of him on the ground, arms folded, started the experiment.

He laid his hand on top of Maxwell's head. He felt just his skin and the thin hairs, some of them completely devoid of melanin, transparent and shiny under the sunlight.

Brushed his hand to the right. The hair moved a bit, but mostly he just felt it flatten more.

Hooked his fingers and his hand in claw-like position brushed through the growth towards himself. He had plenty of experience taking care of his own hair, spending at least two hours combined on his everyday routines.

The old man's hair was completely different. It was not as thick, not as black. It appeared softer, but he felt much more skin between the hairs, making it much warmer.

He picked a grain of sand from between the strands and tossed it aside.

He slowly put his other hand up as well. He started moving them both in unison, tracing cicrles on the other man's head. Massaging it delicately, he focused on the way the hair passed between his fingers. 

It took about 10 minutes of messing with the magician's hair for Wilson to get his information.

"I think I understand what you meant. You are still forbidden from even reaching towards my head though. Unless you ask properly first"

Seemed like a fair trade but Maxwell had to sigh dramatically anyway.


	11. Splish Splash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt: Max and wilson in the rain, Wilson accidently splashes max while walking in a puddle, n Max splashes him back chaos insues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It needed some heavy editing.

Warm, Autumn rain has surprised them during hunting- the tracks were lost and camp far away. They tried to wait it out under a tree, but when the rain wouldn't stop and just keep puring and inviting frogs to wander further from their pond, they accepted their wet future and started the journey back.

What happened was a slight misstep, Wilson swinging his leg a bit more out than he usually would to unstick a leaf that landed on his shoe, but the force made him put his leg down a bit harsher than before, stomping right in a puddle forming on the ground. It was just his luck it had to happen right on the slight dip in the ground and the muddy water splashed on older man's leg, staining his pants. 

He expected yelling, name-calling, maybe a tantrum. The older man was such a wuss about his clothing- even though he himself made the world repair and clean the non-constant-native clothes every morning, his dapper ass couldn't take a single stitch out of place. Maxwell glanced at him darkly but didn't stop walking- Wilson caught up quickly after his slight stumble leaving him half a step behind, but before he could utter an apology, Maxwell located next puddle and swinged his leg. Almost all water inside it rushed in a small wave straight for Wilson's legs. Sharp gasp, glance down, then up, but Maxwell was already running. 

Wilson had no words, but he did have instinct. He ran after immediatly, eyeing the ground for another puddle- revenge is the sweetest, after all, even if they were technically even right now. But it was clear Maxwell expected a response, otherwise, he wouldn't be running for his life (or pants) right now. 

Finding another pool for his attack wasn't difficult, it has been puring for an hour at least, and Maxwell didn't intend on running forever. In fact, he ran just enough to the exact spot Wilson locked his eyes on and faced him with downright evil grin, weight on one leg, the other ready for attack. Wilson however, had this figured out in time, and jumped in the puddle instead, sacrficing his shoes to splash the water onto the other man and around them.

"You!-" was the reply to sudden kamikaze tactic, but he was already jumping out of the way, towards next puddle. If he can reach it first, he'll have enough time to properly kick this time, forcing the water more on his opponents clothing and less wasting it on the ground around him. It took him a few seconds to notice the stiffness not only in his legs, but also face and a warm realisation he was smiling.  
  
But no such luck, Maxwell's legs were longer, just as the arms that reached him and grabbed under his arms, raising him just enough to make his legs leave the ground for split second, turning his weight to inevitably make Wilson land butt-first into the wet grass. Sudden moisture higher than his pantlegs made him feel a bit cold- but he had no time to think about it. He threw himself around and at Maxwell's legs, locking his arms round his knees, holding them together. He grinned wiciously as th magician wobbled and followed Wilson's fate- falling on his ass on the ground. 

But he did not give up, oh no.

As soon as he had some (wet) stability, he ran his hands over the wet grass and pushed them against Wilson's cheeks, making him sputter from surpise. As Wilson let him go to wipe his lips of the dirty water, Maxwell grabbed his shoulders and threw him to the side, back to the ground. Now, laying in the wet grass, with Maxwell triumphantly pinning him down wearing a shit-eating grin, Wilson covering his mouth with his sleeve from wiping himself, there was quick series of thoughts, _how to shake him off, how to surprise him enough to let me go-_

He didn't expect to be surprised instead again, Maxwell grabbing his arm and pulling it off scientist's face and catching his lips with his own. Wilson stopped any of his struggles and stared with wide eyes, straight into these dark ones, that stared right back, full of purpose and determination.  
  
Maxwell stayed like that, not moving either, just staring at him. Then slowly pulled back, sat on his ankles and so clearly satisfied with himself looked down at him. Wilson, still paralysed, slowly let Maxwell blur before him as his thoughts started racing, on _what could that mean, what happens now, my vest is soaking through-_

"I hate games of this sort, but once in a while never hurt anybody. Let this be our little secret, hm, pal?"

Maxwell came back to focus and Wilson only nodded dumbly. Maxwell's smile softened soon, and he got back to his feet, straightened the pants sticking to his skin and reached to help Wilson up.

He took his arm under his own and they went on their way, Wilson too lost in his thoughts about what happened before to notice their connection before the soaked clothes became warm in the spot they touched.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Now with art! Bless you https://dontstarve-maxwil-imeanmaxwell.tumblr.com/ !!!!


	12. Like a baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern au: Lazy morning cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short with a sprinkle of angst.

Wilson woke up to his arm falling asleep- the man laying on it wasn’t known for being heavy, but it was certainly enough to cut his circulation. The man in question was dozing on and off, pausing in petting Wilson's hair. Wilson took a moment to consider his own position- wrapped around the gangly man like a corset, effectively trapping his legs and scratching his overgrown stubble into the broad chest. 

Wilson tried to remember what happened the day before- he could faintly recall a low voice murmuring into his ear about overworking himself and grabbing him by the shoulders, leading up the stairs-

Wilson blushed intensely. Maxwell had brought him to the kitchen and spoon fed him oatmeal, like some damn baby. All this time, without any remarks and not even trying to wake him up- just taking care of him, undressing, putting to bed and warming the covers and Wilson himself with his own body heat. 

Now, after Wilson finally got his stiff arm from under the dozing man, he seemed to jolt him awake- Max raised on his hand and rubbed his eyes, Wilson’s other arm sliding from Max's side to his hip. When magician finished scratching his face, he glanced down at Wilson and without hesitation laid back down, grabbing him and burying his face in Wilson's undoubtedly oily and unwashed hair. Wilson couldn’t help his eyes watering a little- no one ever cared enough to tend to him, when he forgot about his own needs, and now even not giving him a talk or anything- just enjoying some time together. 

Wilson buried himself further into his partner- probably scratching him even more than he did during the night, but Maxwell didn’t seem to care as he squeezed him in response.  
  
Wilson was quiet for a long while, just thinking about stuff, some sad, some tiring, mostly just how much he doesn’t deserve this. Then Max would pet his back, kiss his hair or rock them a bit and Wilson would feel so loved- he couldn’t keep being sad when Maxwell started singing Friends theme, which both of them knew despite neither ever watching it. When Wilson calmed down enough he loosened his grip and made some more space between them, letting Maxwell breathe deeply at last. 

They both settled on their backs, still connected at shoulder and Wilson grabbed Maxwell’s hand to play with it- the man had such long fingers, protruding joints on them and his hands had naught but a hair on them. He took great care of his nails, and his palms lacked the chemical stains Wilson had collected before he started using proper gloves. His wrist looked completely bony, protruding much more to one side, and several marks, some of them birthmarks and some gained with age were peppered there and there. 

The man let him play, himself entertaining with Wilson’s hair, rolling it between his fingers and curling it around. After a while, he turned Wilson with his back to himself and spooned him- their perfect height difference fitting Wilson exactly where Maxwell wanted him, chin on his head, butt on his crotch, shoulders between arms. Wilson felt so fully encompassed by the other man, he felt like a muffin in a liner, slowly melting in the oven Maxwell and the covers were. 

And he was very much fine with that fate.


	13. Reverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something I wrote ages ago and wanted to edit.  
> Reverse AU: Wilson as the original shadow king and William as a survivor.

William stood before the final teleportato. It was so difficult to put it together, in the entirely dark world- even his strong mind couldn't handle never ending darkness. His miner hat was running out- he needed to go.   
  
Memories of the terrifying form the king of the board assumed when he welcomed him in this world appeared in his mind. He was always scared of the pale individual- the beauty of the man easily forgotten when he flashed these sharp teeth at him and felt his claws digging through his clothes. When the man appeared in the worlds, slowly turning into a monster, William remembered Wilson's words-  
  
"There is nothing for you to save. I'm no longer human. Give up while I still have mercy on you"  
  
What does Wilson really look like? What will happen to the magician when he turns up in the King's castle?   
  
His thoughts were scattered, and every new idea was worse than the other. He looked at the machine, the floating metal shape grinning at him- was it worth it?   
  
It had to be. He tried to go through the challenges so many times. He died over and over again, yet activated the door all the same. He wanted to get out of this cursed place and this was his only hope of doing so.   
  
He activated the machine.   
  
............  
  
Where he appeared next, no one welcomed him. It was empty, only the burning pillars lighting his way. He took out the diving rod- but it stayed entirely silent.   
  
A quiet tune, one he recognized but couldn't for the love of the world remember where from, sounded ahead. He put on his miner hat and took the cane into his hand. He went forward but stepped into something.   
  
He crouched down and tried to inspect it closer. It looked like... Hair? The kind of that small rabbits grew when he got a bit insane. Rough and dark, twisting and wiry. He looked up into the direction of the music and where the hair extended towards.  
  
He went on.   
  
On his way, he found some chests with supplies and food- he gratefully cooked himself some quick dishes and kept going. He took off his miner hat some time ago, the pillars on both sides of the path enough to light his way.   
  
The music was getting louder. And the hair was now a massive carpet, and he had to raise his legs high to not get himself tangled in the dark mass.   
  
Finally, he reached the end. It was underwhelming.  
  
Few pieces of rock wall stood in the back, a gramophone was playing to his left, on his right was a key hole like many he saw before.   
  
Directly in front of him, a dark, spiky throne was, with a slumped figure sitting on it.   
  
The Great Wilson, Master of Light and Darkness, Owner of the World and Souls Trapped Within, was leaning on the back of the seat tiredly, his face completely hidden in the enormous bush of hair. Only his half lidded eyes peeked over the mess of his beard, that covered his torso and legs, arms only stickong out from the sides where they rested on the chair’s arms, bound tightly by a thick shadow.   
  
"Congratulations, Carter. Didn't expect it would be you."  
  
.............  
  
William sat fairly close, but still wouldn't dare to get near the man that ruined his life. After their quick talk, Wilson (just Wilson. A simple, entirely human name.) decided he won't be saying anything more. He was silent and ignored William's questions, pretending he was asleep, except with his eyes still open and that empty look staring somewhere in the distance.   
  
William didn't know what to do. He turned off the gramophone, earning a quiet thank you from the king, and the silence stretching across the place now was deafening. He could stay here, or put the key in the hole. All his work, his deaths, his many tries only to find the man was just another pawn.   
  
William hated doing nothing, even while he was thinking, but pacing was impossible due to that damn disgusting carpet that grew off the king's face. He took out flint and sticks, and quickly got himself a razor.   
  
When he got up and went closer to the king, he considered an axe might have been a better choice.   
  
He grabbed a bunch of hair about palms lenght from Wilson's face, and started cutting. The sharp blade ripped through the growth quickly, and soon William was sweeping all the damn hair to the side.   
  
Then, delicately, the best he could, he shaved the rest of the hair off of Wilson's face. The king focused his eyes on him, the dark pits still empty and uninquiring. William was soon done, not perfectly and with bunch of tufts still leftover but enough to reveal Wilson's mouth. It was locked in a lax expression that William couldn't describe anyway other than of a man that gave up on everything one might care about.   
  
Silence stretched for a while longer. Wilson spoke.  
  
"I regret bringing you here the most."


	14. Work in, work out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern au: wilson tries working out and brings max on joggs  
> one jog max is complaning XD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short and super stupid, but who doesn't like some stupidity every now and then. 
> 
> I simply don't have an excuse for it, sorry

"What the fuck are you wearing?"

Well that's a nice greeting. Wilson adjusted his running shoes and stood up to see the other man ready- he was wearing a sweater and sweatpants. Sure, it was cold outside but they were going _jogging_ \- Maxwell will make these clothes live up to their names. 

"You don't like my running attire?"

"It's not about liking, it's about literally everything else." That look. That beautiful look full of anger and frustration, the one that was the sweetest prize for all his jokes and mishaps, right there, with an accent of tiredness from waking up early. Wilson could already tell it's going to be a great day. 

Wilson put on the bright pink headband and struck a dramatic pose. He knew perfectly well he wasn't the fittest of them all- his belly fat jiggled anytime he sat down and he liked to play with his tighs (not nearly as much as Maxwell though) but that won't stop him from tormenting Max with the view- his dark leggings tight around his bottom and the goddamn blue shirt clashing terribly with white-red shoes. He was a hot mess and he was aware of it- the items were bought on different occasions, with different uses in mind (except for the shoes. He bought them specifically for this). He was dressed much lighter than his lover, cold not bothering him as much as the lanky older man. Besides, he was planning on a proper work out and he's going to get all sweaty anyway.  
  
Maxwell glared accusingly at his face, stubborn to not glance where he wanted. Wilson snickered loudly, and Max gave up. He reached to wear his own shoes, also bought for the planned running sessions. They decided to get a bit healthy, Wilson to 'finally get out of that grimy lab' and Maxwell to gain some muscle 'on his bony darn everything'. They set some easy route that should be enough to tire them out but not overwork. Wilson read that mornings are the best time to get the outside exercise, so he was the one to wake them up at the crack of dawn. 

When the main event started, they kept quiet for about two minutes. Their gasps got quicker, deeper and both suddenly realised how terrible their form was. They'd have to keep it up for few months if they want it to get it any better. 

Suddenly, Maxwell decided to break the silence. 

"It's fuckin cold..."

"What? How? You're all bundled up!"

"The air is cold! My throat is going to be sore!"

"Then breathe through your nose! It's the proper way to breathe anyway-"

"I'm doing exactly that!" And to counter his point, took a big gasp of air right between these huge lips of his. Wilson shook his head and looked ahead to look where they were actually running.  
  
"This is so not going to end well" the comment was random and Wilson did not grace it with an answer.

"I swear, whoever thought of this sport is now running circles in hell" Maxwell gasped loudly "but they probably love it, the damn masochist."

Wilson snorted. Maxwell's whining was as always, entertaining.

"Hey Wilson? What are we running from? Bad dreams? What is your explanation for this except that you're fat?"

"I'm not trying to lose weight you dummy. Sport is healthy and it's about time we both got some exercise"

"A midlife crisis, then"

"...do you even remember what that feels like?"

"Of course. I had four" Maxwell seemed in a darn good mood to make a joke at his own expense. Or that bad of a mood. Wilson couldn't fight off his smile either way. 

They ran for five more minutes before they had to take a break- Wilson's pulse was racing and Maxwell looked about ready to collapse. He kept wheezing and couldn't seem to catch a breath for a while, which concerned Wilson a bit.  
  
"You good, love?"

"Absolutely wonderful, hate."

Ah. He was fine. 

"Just about to have a heart attack, not much-"

"Are you serious right now or just a crybaby?"

Sharp gasp was his answer. Then his breath slowed and Max managed to get up from his crouched position. He was red in the face but seemed pretty much fine. 

"I want a damn smoke."

"That's the last thing you need you addict. You aren't allowed in bedroom if you start it again" Wilson was merciless. The nicotine might sound alluring and give Maxwell this personal twinge while kissing but he valued his partner's health much more. 

"You're stripping away everything I love..."

"Tell me that when I'm changing."

He received a slap to the face. A light one. An invitation. He didn't wait and returned it. They were deep in the slap fight before they noticed what hour it was.

It's good they were wearing work out clothes because they had to quite literally Sprint back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This lil shit got a tumblr, and if you want to send an ask or anything, that's the place:  
> https://kingabezka.tumblr.com/


	15. Weirdo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An... AU. I will tell you at the end because you will not believe what was the prompt that made me write this.

Wilson was called the weird kid in his previous school a lot. He personally didn’t know why, he was as normal as you can get- his hair was a hundred times better than other kids’ though, maybe that was it? Whatever the reason was, whether it was his unwillingness to talk with other kids about pointless stuff or their pure jealousy over his random trivia skills, Wilson was laughed at, picked on, and generally avoided.

The first two he could ignore in exchange for the third. He preferred being alone actually, free to read his books and think of all the great things he will be able to do later.

It didn’t however seem to satisfy his parents, who took him to many people that asked him stupid questions and made him complete tests he was not interested in. His results must have been fine because nothing special happened afterwards. Only after he finished his parents’ stories one time too many did they get really mad. But why? Wilson simply corrected them on some small details. They changed the people he talked with to some other people who asked him the same boring questions- do you feel safe, how is school, do you have friends, blah blah blah. But they sneaked in some other questions that sounded like they wanted to make him a character in some book.

  
_“Have you ever experienced something unnatural happening around you? When you feel angry or sad, maybe happy?”_   
  
_“Do you have some unconventional methods of solving problems?”_

_“Does your body change in some ways? Especially on bright nights?”_

Wilson was nothing if not truthful and answered them all with simple “no”. He was always sent back and after silent ride with his parents he just let himself go back to his notes and drawings. He had six of these talks, and it seems the last one got his parents their desired result.  
  
“Wilson, you’re going to be changing schools starting next year”  
  
“Oh. Why though? Did you finally catch the teacher drawing penises on the walls and blaming kids for it? And why would I change school because of that?”  
  
“You see- your teacher is doing what? Ah. Nevermind, the point is, this school will be better suited for you. You’ll see”  
  
As much as the news came from nowhere, Wilson was excited. His old classmates were rude and he’d be very glad to go to a school with higher education level.

\-------------------------------------

The school was terrible, since he came here five months ago.

If he was pretty normal in his previous school, he was the most basic a person can ever be in this one. This had to be some special school for… for weirdos. He didn’t know how to explain it differently, there was just too low chance to get stuck in class with a pyromaniac, teenage bodybuilder, someone so emotionless they decided to identify as a robot (Wilson isn’t stupid and knows they actually are a robot. Noone else seemed to figure it out yet though, so he’ll keep quiet about it) and the spider obsessed boy. Seriously, there was nothing extraordinary about Wilson other than his beard that started growing as his parents state “prematurely”. Wilson was very much interested in testing himself, he haven’t met any other thirteen year old with such thick and lush facial hair. His parents denied him however access to any proper lab to conduct his experiments. He still kept his daily shavings in a box under bed. 

The lights flickered- Sarah must be reading her stupid books again. The class itself was in chaos, the ginger haired boy talking to his axe that he was somehow allowed in school (her name is Lucy, though Wilson doesn’t remember ever hearing him say that), spider boy (his name is Bartholomew but he always introduces himself as Webber) was screaming at Wendy, who was sitting and pointedly ignoring her ghost sister holding a tarantula just out of reach of the short guy. Wilson turned away from the scene in time to see the boy overgrown with flowers jump out of his seat to run from an angry bee. Why were bees always angry around him? That is one question, the other being what the hell is Wilson doing here. He doesn’t belong among these people.

But what does it matter, as door hits the wall and a girl enters, late, a frog on her shoulder and a fish tank in her arms. Her deformed face matches her slurring words but no one cares- she’s liked by all of his classmates, even if she’s a bit stand offish. Wolfgang started doing push ups in the back of the class, claiming he has to use the strength he got from his sandwich, immediately joined by Wigfrid, her thick (faked) accent adding a dramatic flair to shouted words of encouragement. The mute boy Wilson never learned name of was playing hide and seek with literal demon that liked to hang around their school for some reason. It claimed to be a fawn but Wilson doesn’t care.

Winona (her sister, Charlie, is somewhere in South Africa but her parents are still looking for her) approaches him and throws a blueprint in his face. He doesn’t unroll it, just stuffs it in his backpack. Winona turns on heel and goes towards her desk, without a word. They’ve been working on their new machine for a while now, but kept arguing about the details. Their work cycle rarely included face to face discussion, exchanging blueprints a much more favorable way of interaction. It was way easier to just read the notes and create a proper response where you can’t forget all the points. Wilson’s gaps in mechanical knowledge and skills were easily compensated by Winona’s technical mind and he provided her with fresh ideas to integrate into their project. He’ll have a good look at the paper later.

Wilson slowly zones out, the noise around him becoming a meaningless buzz. He hears barking, as Walter starts running around the room with his slobbering dog right behind him, and his eyes gloss over. The teacher ran out of the classroom 20 minutes ago, probably to bring in the principal and Wilson really doesn’t want to hear anymore scolding that doesn’t apply to him. His beard started itching, so he scratches at his face, only to dip his fingers in some kind of residue. It’s stuck between his prickly chin hair, and he glances to the side- on his left is another quiet kid, giant glasses on his face and much like Sarah, always got his big nose in a book. The book looks intimidating and no one knows what’s written there. At least Sarah shows her books, even if no one really can read her scrawled writing. This guy literally hisses at anyone who will glance over his shoulder, murmuring incantations over the open tome and disrupting everyone with the scary smoke that comes out of it in sudden bursts or, spits the black fluid around, like now.

Wilson isn’t one to smack-talk others, but he does hear the gossip. Some people say it’s dark magic, which Sarah denies with all her might, “There is no such thing as dark magic! There’s just magic, it’s up to you how you use it” she says and follows it with long and boring descriptions of spells and moral responsibility, her eyes still appearing to be closed even through her intense monologue.   
  
Other theory is that it’s just a notebook that William uses to store his evilness, because if he doesn’t he will transform into a monster and eat all the married couples in country. (Why married? Why only in a country? Will he check everyone’s papers to make sure they’re married? What if your partner died? Nobody seems to bother with an answer to these questions.)  
  
Wilson doesn’t care. He stares at the tall guy muttering incantations to the book, half his face black from the inky fluid, eyes focused and dark.

  
You’d think that someone as curious and fascinated by the world as Wilson would be interested in all the things that happen around him- but he’s too tired, the constant sensory overload frying his poor brain. If only he could be alone. He doesn’t bother making friends with everyone here. It’s difficult, they are too busy for a boring, normal person like him. He was asked many times why he’s here, what was weird about him that made him end up in this school. But there’s nothing weird about him. They all seem to shrug and leave after that.   
  
He misses William glancing at him as he looks away with a sigh. Day like every other, horrible. At least Winona returned the print.

\--------------------------------------

Wilson is woken up by the warrior girl bursting into a song as she leaves the room, other students following her out. He checks the time, yep, it’s the end of school for today. He packs his notebook and is about to leave as well when he remembers something. There’s an object under one of the desks in the classroom, so he turns back and crouches to pick it up. The book can’t be mistaken for anything else than the reason for stains on the table and around it. The black covered tome with single “M” on the front is vibrating in his hands, and he feels goose skin left after he’s shook by a shudder. He glances at the door but everyone is long gone.

He puts the book in his backpack and leaves as well.

\-------------------------------------

When Wilson returns home, he throws a quick greeting to his parents and runs upstairs into his room in the attic. With shaking hands, he takes out the book, the burning curiosity in his mind finally brightening his face and world around him. This damn boring day, tiring interactions, dull lessons- finally, _finally_ something will happen. The book has been an enigma since he saw it, since William first told him to go away when he asked. He sat down on the floor and with shaking hands, grabbed the pulsing book and looked at it for few seconds. Then, he forced his fingers between the pages and pried it open.

It shudders visibly, then calms.

It’s empty.

Wilson checks all the pages, one after the other but it’s empty from beginning to end. Disappointment and disbelief washed through his mind, is this really it? That can’t be it. There _has_ to be something… A small thought appeared in his mind, a little sparkle somewhere back there, and he follows new instruction carefully. He closes the tome, then tosses it into the air. He nods few times as it levitates slightly above the floor, open, and the now full pages turn on their own in small flurries. The writing is fully black and elegantly caligraphed, clean lines curling around themselves to form words that connect into sentences. Wilson grins as he sees the entire book is written in Latin, but he has known that language since he was seven.

He was not prepared for another wave of disappointment as the book turns out to be full of class notes, _of all things_. Every page is covered with words speaking of what teacher said, math problems they solved, little reminders, like _“feed the rabbit some fruit today”_ or _“call grandma”_. Unimportant and not at all terrible occultist stuff he was expecting.

It seemed to also function as a journal, filled with entries like _“I hate this place so much, why can’t I just leave, why did parents send me here, I want to run away.”_

_‘Same’_ thinks Wilson and pages turn on their own for a bit, Wilson mindlessly looking through them hoping to find something interesting. They stop on a random note, which is just description of the day he most likely wrote before going to bed. He’s about to command the pages to turn when he sees his own name. He shakes his head and looks again, but there it is, _Wilson_ , written right there. He starts reading the words surrounding it.

He reads that part, pages turn and show him another and another, his name appearing so often and he gets more red with each word he reads.

_...Wilson finally talked to me today. He asked me about the Codex and I completely panicked. I ended up snapping at him and he looked so sad and I feel so bad I think I might cry… dad says it’s not manly to cry but Webber cries all the time. Wolfgang too. Does Wilson cry? Maybe he doesn’t, maybe he considers himself a real man, with his damn beard and indifference to everything…_

_...Wilson corrected history teacher today. I have no idea where he learned that the ugly clay Venus figure was actually some guy’s efforts to put his horny fantasies into stone, but it was so funny how teacher reacted. Wilson doesn’t read in school but he knows so much, he has to read lots of books. Maybe we could read together? I’ll ask him tomorrow..._

Wilson remembers that day. But he does not remember William ever approaching him.

_...Today Wilson forgot his lunch money. I really really wanted to let him borrow mine. I was about to, I was so ready, but Warly just had to whip out his new portable crockpot and cook the damn dinner for everyone. His telepoofing abilities are ridiculous, and his cooking skills are downright unfair. The lobster was delicious, I have to admit that. Maybe Wilson will forget his money when Warly isn’t at school?..._

_...Wilson makes me feel weird. Like, I want to get to know him, like I knew Charlie before, but more. I’m scared of this feeling… What if he disappears, just like Charlie did? I don’t want that…_

_...I almost talked to Wilson today, but I chickened out. I feel stupid…_

The pages turned quicker and quicker, trying to show all the instances Wilson’s name appeared in the book, too fast for Wilson to actually read anything, pages looking ready to fly off the stitchign holding them in. Dizzy now, Wilson leaned back and closed his eyes- he heard the flipping of paper stop as he tried to collect his thoughts.

The book itself and the entire situation was draining his sanity and energy, he physically couldn’t handle it anymore. He can’t think about it. He needs to rest, he can feel his brain pushing on his skull from inside and it feels awful and he needs to get away from the book.

As he shakily gets up, the book closes and thumps on the floor. He leaves it there and crawls into bed.

\------------------------------------

Next day, before class, he finds William at his desk, his eyes red and nose swollen, glaring with despair at the table top. He must have really missed his _diary_. He approaches silently, then pulls out the book and passes it to him. It takes him a moment to notice, but when he does, he grabs it harshly and tugs out of Wilson’s hands with a wild look. Wilson allows it and doesn’t budge.   
  
William is staring at him with wide eyes, hugging the book to his chest. Wilson slowly leans forward and doesn’t stop until his mouth is right next to William’s ear.   
  
He speaks quietly, but William heard him.   
  
He goes to sit back at his desk, as other students slowly come in and start the chaos all over again. He feels William’s stare on him the entire day.

  
  
\-----------------------------------------------

_“Would you believe me if I told you I know Latin?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: Wilson tries to read the codex umbra: Turns out it's a weird diary
> 
> Everything else just... kinda- like- I wanted to make it an au but got carried away and this is the result. How I managed to write first version in one sitting and then the second in another is beyond me. 
> 
> Also yes, I know some things don't make sense, but it's not supposed to be serious story and I think you can forgive me changing some stuff.


	16. No thoughts, head empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does this count as vent writing? Still don't know. I like the vibe tho.

Wilson's head felt empty. Not negative empty, just a pleasant little moment where he wasn't thinking about anything at all. He laid in the armchair, his mouth slightly open as he breathed calmly, his usually loud and overworking brain sluggish and for once quiet. He didn't think about what he'd eat for dinner. Or any work. He could only register the soft seat under him, how heavy his limbs felt and how he could peacefully fall asleep. So quiet. 

The silence in his house was a blessing. He doesn't own a classic clock, there's no ticking in the background. It's silent. The trees outside get swished around by wind, and the barely audible murmur only makes Wilson relax more. 

He almost doesn't feel his legs now, his brain too unfocused on anything to register feeling in his limbs. If he thinks of moving, he will give that thought up before the impulse will be sent to his muscles. 

Quiet. 

Silent. 

Peaceful. 

His head fills with warm cotton. His eyes drop half closed. He feels the slightest movements of his body like expanding and collapse of the universe, with each breath he takes, galaxies forming and dissapearing, in a matter of seconds it takes him to take a breath, hold it, and release it, the process completely automatical.

If he had the mental capacity right now, he'd wonder if he's on drugs. 

But he's too busy not focusing on anything to think about it. 

It's blissful.

It's quiet.

Until it isn't. Doors open downstairs. Wilson feels as if his ear twitched, and stretched out to listen to soft steps following up, up, up, along the stairs, to land on a carpet. He acknowledges the figure standing just a bit out of his field of vision as it stares at him. But he doesn't think about it. 

The muffled steps come closer and a hand touches his forehead. He's fine though. Somehow, it doesn't feel as if it stopped being quiet. Another breath in the room, small movements and rustling of cloth still fit into the silence like a soft violin to the song. It doesn't change the melody, but you know it's there. So it does change it. But not exactly. As long as you acknowledge...

The small wooden toy of a train thought rolled to a stop in Wilson's mind station, and it's tiny motor shut down. Movement above him reminded him of the other person. 

That person couched and looked at him. He didn't see them. They were right in front of him and he looked straight forward, even his eye muscles relaxed, bringing faraway objects into focus as a result. 

The hand reappeared in his tiny world, first slowly petting his thigh. It moved slowly and carefully, not even applying enough strength to let it lay there on it's own and Wilson felt a phantom tickle. It moved to his hand resting on a armrest, and delicately traveled up to his shoulder, where it closed so feather light around the side of his neck. He felt his pulse thrum against the palm, his warm skin giving it's heat to the cold hand. He sighed and his eyes closed on their own.

The reality outside his word moved, as the hand changed angle, then place, and another hand joined in. They worked delicately but surely, slipping under his legs and shoulders, tipping the universe sideways, raising him into another galaxy, moving him across the void. He floats across the space, carried by alien hands. 

The world orbits around him for a moment, and he feels as if the reality is adjusting to his existence, like he's a rock thrown into water, every molecule of the liquid changing place and shape of the surroundings to let him in. 

He's jostled slightly as he's seated on Maxwell's lap, now sitting sideways across the armchair, leaning against his partner. Max is pushed into the universe, a dye dropped into the water, mixing with the world around him and encompassing him fully. Arms move from under him to around him and his own start their journey to rest around the man's middle and against one shoulder. 

The two stars come closer and closer, their warmth connecting first, as they slowly become one. 

Wilson sighs as his eyes flutter open, Maxwell looking at him fondly, then nuzzling his hair. 

It's quiet.


	17. Play time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU: Max discovers that Wilson is very good at a boardgame like monopoly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let. Those. Men. Have. A. Family.

When Jack came holding a bunch of boxes it already spelled a disaster. They played everything- UNO, Roads and Villages, Rummikub, Scrabble and now it was showdown- Monopoly. 

As much as Maxwell could cheat his way through card games and quickly snatch bricks with numbers or letters on them only for them to magically reappear when they're needed, he couldn't quite wrap his head around those types of games. There's a reason why Charlie was the greatest assistant one could have- her business methods were unbeatable. Were she here with him, they would have won within first hour. Unfortunately, he was alone, playing against his lover, brother, and nieces that refused to play if not on one team. 

Turns out Wilson, the very same person that sits over an hour counting his tax, can run circles around them all in a board game. Max tried to reason with himself- it's a dice roll, it's pure luck, it's bullshit. Yet somehow it's enough to make Higgsbury put another hotel on his possession and Jack to scratch his moustache while staring at his money balance.  
  
At least the girls seemed to have the time of their lives, arguing over what buildings to buy and throwing one dice each. 

They moved seven spaces and squealed when they drew a card allowing them to get 50$ from bank. Wilson gave them the colorful paper and Maxwell took the dice. 

It's been four hours of this insufferable game. 

He rolls the dice. No match. He passes them to Jack, looking at the top hat figure that represents him on the board, stuck in prison for another round. 

Jack makes his move and pays twins their due. Wilson takes the dice and crosses the starting line. Takes 200$ from bank and stares at his cards for a while. 

"Hmmm. Jack... Would you be interested in the train station?"

Oh god. It begins again. Maxwell can't listen to it anymore.

"No. Would you be interested in the blue set building? You lack only two as far as I know."

"I am much more interested in the yellow one. What do you say?"

"The same thing I said twenty times before. NO."  
  
Maxwell considered... Well, his only option of ending this madness, at least for himself. If he declared bankruptcy, would he be set free? Maybe. But the the rest of them will keep going and maybe even be upset with him. 

But they have taken a break for dinner and now after returning to the game he was getting hysterical. How long can one play such a game?!

The twins were whispering to eachother their plans while they waited for Jack and Wilson to settle their matters. Maxwell felt tired. And sleepy. Normally at this hour they would be drinking tea or cocoa with Wilson, or entertaining themselves in other warm ways. A visit from family is always pleasant- especially since he managed to convince Wilson that he _is in fact_ part of their family, but the endless stream of competition (and sitting in jail) was draining. 

He must have zoned out really badly because he was woken from his thoughts by Abby tugging at his arm, passing the dice to him. He rolled them mindlessly, forgetting what game they were even playing, only to remember when he noticed two threes staring back at him. He grabbed the damn top hat and moved it six spaces- straight onto Wilson's property.

"Hmmm. That will be 100$ my dear"

"This is a grocery store. What kind of prices have you set in this place?"

"Uncle Wilson is selling drugs under the counter!" Abby seemed really proud of that one. Jack however wasn't happy at all.

Maxwell's head started hurting even before Jack began his lecture and Wilson couldn't hold back his laugh no matter how hard he tried. 

Magician checked the time on his phone. It was still too early to ask Jack to leave, after all, they were meant to spend time together. 

But he can't handle this anymore. 

"I give up"

"What? You? The amazing Maxwell?" Jack was merciless with his bite, but Max was too tired of playing board games to entertain verbal ones. 

"Wilson owns most of the board anyway. Let's just declare him a winner and do something else. **Please.** " How low has he stooped to just ask for something outright. 

Wendy, little blessing, called out softly "I'm getting bored as well. Can we watch a movie instead?"

Jack's approach shifted immediately. "Of course, is that okay Abby, Wilson?"

A 'sure' and 'A great mind wins again!' later, they were sitting on the couch with TV playing some Pixar movie. He and Jack next to eachother, one twin on each lap, and Wilson practically laying on his side, cuddling into his arm. 

Wilson kept asking them to play Monopoly for the next two weeks, and for the next two weeks 'no' became Maxwell's favourite word.


	18. Parties suck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No idea what sort of au is this, I just know I REALLY needed Guest of Honor stuff so I made some myself.

The horrible party stretched on and on, and Wilson considered jumping off the balcony a good idea more and more. The champagne he was sipping was not bringing him wanted results and he was tired of drinking the disgusting alcohol. 

He traveled along the wall from one corner to the other, searching for any means of escape- besides breaking his legs from the impact of jumping. His parents however put guards on the doors, informed to refuse to let him pass if he wanted to go out. He knew because he went to every single door and he was denied at least 3 times by each guard. 

So he hanged around, scowl on his face, slumped and hopefully looking unpleasant enough to not approach. He didn't even know why he had to be here, all this was was some random party his parents organised for the heck of it. He has pushed them too far however with avoiding them before and they told him "People think we don't even have a son!" as if that had any weight to him. 

He could be out in town, or in the forest, collecting samples, or in his lab, extracting useful information from his experiments, but instead he was stranded here, with annoying music and a bunch of overdressed people doing small talk. 

Someone was entertaining the crowd on the other side of the room, pulling shadows from a book and shocking everyone with puffs of smoke. He was not interested in the slightest in the strange performance, even if the tricks were curious- he was too busy moping about being pulled from the privacy of his quarters to bother. He would give up all the shadow performances in the world to just go back to his room and sleep the night away.  
  
A sudden puff of smoke right in front of him made him jump, and the face that appeared from it, big nosed and grinning, made him scowl. What did this man want from him? 

"I couldn't help but notice you're a bit lonely over here."

The man dressed in a white shining suit was _leaning above him_ , the damn tall bastard, the smile on his face downright evil. Wilson had to crane his head to look him in the dark eyes and he felt his anger raise even more.

"I am not lonely. I'm exactly in the company I want to be in." He pointedly looked at the random painting on the wall, showing some general sitting on a horse. 

"Oh? And what does your company have to say about this?"

"Absolutely nothing. That's why it's good."

The banter was getting on his nerves. Just leave him alone, he doesn't need this socializing bullshit. So he excuses himself, turns away and moves towards the buffet. That's usually how he got people to leave him alone, but the man either didn't get the hint or just ignored his wishes altogether. 

As he was stuffing some random biscuits in his mouth, the stranger poured himself a drink and sipped it, looking at Wilson the entire time. Maybe he really wanted to annoy or embarrass him, or he wanted to fuck him. 

And honestly, the man was handsome and pretty enough, but Wilson really wasn't interested in getting laid tonight. He'd have to hide from his parents, probably strain his back from playing in some tight space and he'd have a rich dude thinking he can have his way with him whenever he wants. All of these were undesirable.

So he ignored the man as much as he could and continued on his treks along the walls, avoiding the dancing floor and any groups of people. Stranger followed him like a shadow, always half step behind him, throwing comments about random events and asking rhetorical questions. 

If Wilson was annoyed before, he was fuming now. He turned harshly after one too many comments about the party being quite lovely and glared the man in the eyes.

"What do you even want from me?!"

"Can't I simply seek another gentleman's company?"

"Not if the said gentleman doesn't want yours. Unless you have a way to get me out of here I don't wish for you to follow me."

That devilish grin got some sort of smug glint to it, as the man extended his hand towards him.

"Well that's interesting pal, because I just might have. Are you interested?"

"I'd like to see you try." He grabbed the hand proposed to him and expected to be lead towards the exit, only to be stopped by the guards. He was instead yanked against the man's chest, and he stumbled into it before he could catch his footing. The other hand, still holding a wine glass hugged his shoulders to press him into the taller gentleman further and shadows sprung up from the floor to encompass them for a blinding moment. When they dispersed they were standing outside, in his family's park. Too shocked by the event, he didn't even move from his place against the other man.

At least until he looked up, to see the man smirking at him from above, then squeezing the hand he was still holding. At this he ripped it from his grip and stumbled away.  
  
"Who are you?"

"Maxwell Carter. My pleasure, Mr...?"

"Higgsbury. Wilson."

"Well Mr Higgsbury, I'd be honored to spend the rest of the night beside you, in this lovely little park" the voice was nonchalant but his expression eased and finally let through some real emotions- the man looked just a tad lonely, and Wilson for the first time in a while felt a pang of sympathy. 

"I suppose I do owe you. Would you care for a walk?"

He received a warm smile and was offered an arm, which he hooked with his own and led the Carter towards the pond he knew was hidden behind few willows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so glad I'm not a native English speaker cause if I was I would probably see how truly bad my writing is. But well, what else is practice for?


	19. Very late Halloweed Nights fic, I didn't even plan to write it. It just happened.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone loves calling Wilson a feral man. I love it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was also inspired by It'sTheBlob's piece for halloween. Very fitting.

It was pretty obvious that when Hallowed Nights came, Wilson would go off to build the mad laboratory and spend the days making potions and experimenting with random combinations. He set the lab pretty far from the main camp to not bother anyone, and worked away in the outfit that was both his safety kit and Halloween costume. Which fit him well as his manic laugh echoed to the living area despite the considerable distance. Maxwell himself missed the pig warrior costume, if only because they made quite a pair with his Krampus one. He can't count how many times he threw Higgsbury in the bag to run off somewhere with him, only for Wilson to yell "FOR GREAT JUSTICE!" and engage in vicious tickle fight. They were fleeting moments of happiness, but all of them took what they could, traversing the land in search of trinkets that will get them candy they can save for the next cycle. 

Now Maxwell sported a much more dignified costume, one of a vampire. He does enjoy this one considerably more, as it's almost as dapper as his other outfits. He tried sneaking up on Wilson to perhaps indulge in some exciting activities in the lab, but scientist seemed to live up to the name and has gone completely crazy, dropping his sanity to make the potions and killing off the shadow creatures to regain it. Over and over. The nightmare fuel was dripping all over the floor last time he checked and truly, it was best not to disturb him. He did however miss him terribly, and was not the only one. He has ofter seen Webber complaining to Wickerbottom about Wilson not coming back for anything other than food and materials, turning down any invitations for games or completing chores together.

Higgsbury would make a big trip from time to time, bringing them backpacks filled with his new concoctions, describing what each did so they can use them for their own purposes. 

But really, even if none of them needed sleep in this cursed land, it was healthy to do so from time to time. And Wilson wouldn't even listen to the idea, yelling about "station possibly disappearing after the event is over" and getting back to work with renewed vigor. He truly became a living nightmare fuel factory. 

And if his sick laughter could be heard from the distance, of course the explosion could as well. 

He, Woodie, and Warly ran over as soon as they could, to find the scientist completely covered in soot, fighting a crawling horror with bare hands, attempting to scratch it. When asked how he feels, he replied he has to make a new station as soon as possible- so they all assumed he was fine. Woodie grabbed him by the middle and dragged him to the nearby pond to wash him off at least a bit and Maxwell assembled a new station with the help of Warly. They'll be taking Wilson with them, but he'd be furious if he came back after the time is over without his favourite toy, and just maybe Maxwell wanted to be the one to tell him that his beloved lab is waiting for him, so he can see the sparkle in his eyes. 

It turned out Wilson wasn't fine at all, when he started moving a lot more on all fours and biting at random objects. He kept trying to steal Wickerbottom’s books and hissing at pigs. He would stuff his face with candy like he wanted to die of diabetes and slowly stopped talking- Wendy with her monotone declared that just like all of them he went feral, and they should let him leave to survive in the wilderness like the animal he's become. This of course earned her a reminder that they a were surviving in the wilderness and "humans belong in the animal kingdom, dear".

They weren't sure what to do with him, his new habits not tameable and the man ipossible to reason with. Wilson ran off yet again to the savanna, to come back with a dead rabbit in his jaws, drop it on Maxwell's lap and grin as if he just killed a Bearger all on his own. Maxwell knew he shouldn't indulge, but he would pat Wilson on the head and scratch him behind the ear. It was embarrassing, but if Higgsbury truly became a mindless animal this was the cutest thing ever. Maxwell would dare to say he didn't mind, except that he missed the actual scientist as hell (despite his audible denial) and this version of the scientist was... Well, not very science-y. He would play with Chester, fight the catcoons, and eat butterflies, despite their fridge being full of wonderful dishes Warly cooked with a flair. 

And it isn't that they didn't try to get him back, on the second day since the event Wickerbottom went to the rebuilt station and tried to figure out what happened, searching for some sort of cure.

The obvious solution to the problem would be death- it always brought people back to normal, considerably healthy and sane. Except Woodie, who would wake up transformed and disoriented, then starving after the transformation. So really, it was obvious that they should let Higgsbury die and let him revive so he can go back to being his annoying self, but the problem was, even with much lowered IQ he was still an amazing survivor- he never went hungry and he annihilated spiders and hounds with pure instinct. It reminded Maxwell of when he was still on the throne, watching people lose their minds and reach their lowest.  
  
Except Higgsbury wasn't anywhere low- he was having the time of his life, running around with that growing beard and wide eyes. 

And then he would climb into their tent at night, cuddle into Max unabashedly and fall asleep curled into the cutest ball. And he enjoyed being pet even more than critters that some of the survivors adopted. Maxwell had to hold back his smile so much it almost hurt, until he would give up and coo at the small man.

When the winter came, Wilson obviously had grown his face fur, but it didn't seem enough. He was not in favor of any hats or additional clothing- his dirty lab coat all he needed. So he spent an awful lot of time next to the scaled furnace, shivering anytime he had to move away for whatever reason. 

And of course nothing was ready when they heard Deerclops approaching. Everyone scrambled like ants to pick up food and warm thermal stones, grabbing weapons and armor. They had about 10 minutes since the first howl to flee, and Wolfgang didn't think twice before grabbing Wilson and throwing him over his shoulder. They ran far into the forest to prepare for the fight and no one kept an eye on the scientist- usually Wilson would be helping them coordinate, keeping tabs on the children and having a campfire ready to lit at the rise of the night, or wielding a spear or any other weapon, indulging in direct battle.  
  
So when Wendy got hit by an icy spike, they just heard an angry screech, saw a body clad in white coat jump across by their sight and Wilson was biting into Deerclops' leg, trying to rip it apart. Which, honestly, was quite pathetic, with his dull teeth and shivering all over from the cold. 

To say it simply, Wilson was dead in one quick swipe of the monstrous claw. 

They finished the beast off, and sat around the campfire when Wilson's ghost approached them. It floated few circles around the fire, before flying off towards the camp. 

When they came back, Wilson was there, remains of the life giving amulet laying in their resurrection corner, the scientist standing up and cooking dinner. 

They earned a harsh talk about letting him behave like an animal for so long and some honey ham. In the evening, Wilson joined him in the tent and yelled at him so more. 

Then begrudgingly asked for pets. 

When the Hallowed nights ended, Wilson was overjoyed to discover his lab still worked, even though none of them could recall how to make it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get used to updates. School wants me to reject my humanity atm.


	20. Talk it out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vent writing

It's hard as always, to live up to the expectations. 

Wilson always had goals placed before him by someone else. First his parents, then the school, later by Maxwell. And now by the survivors. 

All the time, world is calling from all directions, asking you to do _what you want, follow the script, break from the mold, assimilate._ It took long enough for him to understand that the pull he feels towards science is passion, not just temptation to leave his other studies or rebel against the dancing lessons. The first time he did something he wanted in favor of his chores was a moment of enlightenment. 

_"Wow, I could do this forever."_

He could. But he couldn't.  
  
His hard work on everything else was never enough. His work on his own passion wasn't enough to convince his parents or teachers. 

"It's a decent job Wilson, just not the kind that can change the world."

He didn't bother questioning that time why would they expect this from a 13 year old. Maybe if it did change the world, they would accept him? Or would they find other excuses to shun him and what he loved?

When going through the duplicate portal sent him into five worlds of cruel challenges, he failed every time. He tried hundreds, thousands of times and he still failed. 

He managed to succeed once, and somehow it was still a failure.  
  
And now, he was spilling his sorrows to the poor pumpkin vine, keeping it company on the empty field. Apparently, it was his fault that all their crops rot and got eaten by birds, not leaving any seeds behind after they came back to the surface. They had to collect them all again, planting little capsules of life one by one to get their crops again. 

The vine looked utterly stressed, and Wilson was pretty sure it simply understood his mournful tone and felt pity for him. Or just wanted him to shut up. 

"Friend hang out?"

The scratchy and rumbling sound was Wormwood's voice. He was especially devastated after their loss. 

"Yeah, though I'm not sure it likes my company."

"Friends stressed"

"I know, I should play some music instead of talking..."

"Let friend do?"

Wilson was too drained to argue. Wormwood just happily grabbed on to the one man band and started to play the dreadful tunes to cheer the plant up. It happily wiggled and stretched higher to the sky.  
  
The walking plant put the instrument down and patted the sprout on it's just growing leaf. Then sat down next to Wilson. 

"Why?"

It's difficult to communicate with the other survivor sometimes. Wormwood is as innocent as they go, whether by his lack of vocabulary or just simply pure heart (gem?). Hard to tell. 

"Just... Human stuff. You know, the pointless ones."

"Not pointless"

Bless this sweet floral creature. But he knew Wormwood wouldn't understand no matter how hard he tried.

"More like... Not of any importance to you. I know you care, it's just the thing that. Is better left alone so it can go away."

"Like buzz?"

"Exactly."

"Buzz helps flower grow"

Whether Wormwood wanted to make some beautiful anecdote out of this comparison or just shared his thoughts, was unknown. It did however stir his grey cells and make him contemplate for a bit. After a bit of pleasant silence he dared to ask.

"...you think so? That our problems and worries help us bloom?"

"Green in jar help Wormwood bloom!"

"Sure does. Wish it didn't smell so bad though..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so hard to write Wormwood, seriously, he's an angel but how do I write him


	21. Suck it up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson and Maxwell get some free time in Modern AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To balance out, have a happy mess.

Last few months were a horrible mess of work, stress and time slipping between their fingers. Wilson, suddenly needed in person at the lab his team was working in, Maxwell getting a sudden spike in popularity and private show requests. They didn't have time for eating, let alone for some together time. 

With the hectic work, quick words shouted across the room and rushed kisses, they exhausted themselves both physically and mentally.

It was obvious they got drunk on the first free night together and decided to take a week long break. It's a harsh reality of life, when you miss someone you spend every day with- so both decided a date was in order, outside the house, with some purely fun activity (Wilson's words). So they went, first to the movie, then to a restaurant, and then out on the street, entire day of brainless fun behind them, long ago lost interest in being appropriate in the social setting. 

They were not really controlling themselves. Laughing hysterically at anything, leaning on each other for support, teasing and jabbing at each other's sides. Random words bettering their moods even further, despite having no sense with or without context. 

People on the streets looked at them as if they were drunk- and they probably looked like it, especially when Maxwell took his goddamn leg and swung it at an odd angle, resulting in Wilson getting his feet knocked from under him. Landing on his butt, he exploded into even more laughter, slowly letting himself lie on the dirty pavement. 

Max kneeled next to him, also giggling and tried to pull him up, except he was too out of breath to manage the Herculean task. 

They took a while to somehow calm down, get up and go on their way again. But another distraction was afoot.  
  
"Ooooo Max! They sell flavored lipstick in this shop!"

"And you suggest that we-?"

"You know the answer."

"Race you there!"

How can two middle aged men act like this is beyond magician's mind. And it's far enough that stopping doesn't even cross his mind as he's speeding towards the sliding doors and hears Wilson yelling behind him.

\-------------

They ended up buying at least 12 different colors and flavors. And a mascara set, some eyeliner and a basic make up box. All tragically expensive, but what can you do. 

They entered the house, washed their hands and set all the stuff they bought on the couch between them, sat on opposite sides and faced each other with serious expressions.  
  
"Well, Mr boyfriend, I think it is time for a duel, don't you?"

"Indeed, my lover. Are you up for a vicious game of rock paper scissors?"

"I was thinking of something more... Exciting."

An arched brow. "Oh?"

He got a slap on his arm and sound of feet down the corridor and up the stairs. "YOU'RE IT!!!"

"Aw-! You bastard!"

\------------------------

Once the game has been officially concluded, Wilson declared a winner for his amazing trick of hiding in the closet while laughing loudly the entire time, it was time to start the ceremony. 

Wilson opened the make up set and started doing whatever he liked, no matter if it was correct in any way. Soon, Maxwell's face was a cakey mix of cream and various powders, and one eye done with bizarre design that stretched until his ear, drawn with the eyeliner. Wilson did his best to be anatomically correct while drawing the dick part, and use his neatest handwriting while caligraphing 'The cunt' onto the other eye, still a few drawings before he's done. It was impossible to keep a straight face, and Maxwell looked incredibly itchy, most likely from the toxic mess he ended up putting on his nose. There's no way there wasn't some type of chemical reaction in all the stuff he mixed to get the color he wanted.  
  
After enough time and cruel jokes, Wilson finally got to the lipstick. He found one in a blue color and didn't even bother to check the taste- they'll know soon enough. 

Painting Maxwell's lips had to compare with painting a wall. The guy ended up making third of the stick disappear, and it's absolutely not because Wilson constantly smeared it around the target with his shaky hand. 

"All finished! Let me get you a mirror, my diva!"

The sight Maxwell had to behold was as tragic as one would expect, and he couldn't decide between laughing and crying. 

"Higgsbury! I'm a magician, not a clown!!"

"Shhhh mister performer, are you saying you're a one-trick pony?"

"Oh you goddamn-"

"-love of your life, I know that. Now, check if that lipstick actually has a taste!"

"You put so much I could just scrape it with my teeth and eat it." He licked his lips regardless, then sucked his bottom one into his mouth with a strange expression.  
  
Silence stretched, mainly because Wilson forgot what they were doing, staring at Maxwell's mouth, enchanted. Then Max looked up at him, let go of his lip and asked.

"You wanna try?"

Wordlessly nodding, Wilon ose up to his already leaning boyfriend and they started making a goddamn mess. Lipstick ended up everywhere, the chaos from Max's face getting smudged on Wilson's as well. The taste ended up being blueberry, because _what other taste could a blue lipstick have_ , but they were just a bit too busy to whine about it. 

It felt like ages of ruining Wilson's hard work with traveling hands and busy lips until they broke apart, the scientist having an equal amount of blue on his face as his lover. 

Wilson was about to suggest changing their location, but was stopped by a finger on his mouth. 

"Don't think about it. We have over ten others to check, I'm afraid."

It was a long afternoon, and they got a noise complaint few days later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like they're too OOC. Am I getting lost in my own headcanons and weird hopes?


	22. Oh bother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Shadow King Maxwell is bothering Wilson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like different versions of how they got together, whether it be falling through the radio, or hating each other until the truce happened.

The day was like any other, Wilson thought. For barely an hour after waking up. 

First, it was the living logs that switched with his actual logs, Wilson oblivious to the fact until he threw one in the fire. The roar of pain from the wood was enough to give him a heart attack, and he did not appreciate it in the slightest. Even more so, since he was running low on those and a fight with a treeguard was never a pleasure and it suddenly got much higher on his 'to do' list. 

Then his crock pot decided to play with his food. It was always surprising to throw a bunch of ingredients and have a fresh and healthy dish pop up- but his favorite bacon and eggs, usually in a form of sad face, this time was arranged with the bacon strips in parallel lines right next to each other, with eggs on either side at the bottom. It was pretty clear what picture it was meant to be, especially with grease gathered in one obvious spot. He made sure to cut up the bacon real good before he ate it.  
  
Checking the fridge next time revealed all his meat has been turned into the monster kindt. Wonderful. He pondered for a bit what to do with that, and then got back to the fire to cook it. Now, all ready to be given to a bird, he was shocked to find his cage filled with a very bright, colorful avian. Too impressed and enamored, he reached without thinking only to be harshly bitten. 

"Well my dear, fuck right off!"

And of course it talked. And _of course_ it was swearing.

"Your ass is flat and your back is hunched!"

Wilson will not yield to pathetic insults. He fed the bird meat anyway, which it accepted, but wouldn't stop commenting every one thing about him.  
  
"Your hair is dirty!"

"Your vest is faded!"

"You're unshaved!"

Lord give him patience. He had his eggs soon enough, and put them in the ice box, hoping to have them there still after he returned. He had a day of work before him. 

\---------------

Going into the forest earned him a moment of peace, which he used to fill the precious silence with some singing. He hummed familiar tunes, sung the parts he remembered, made up his own senseless songs and sometimes swung around to or off the beat. It was one of the things he could never do as a child, ways shushed and told about his unfit voice- his little shack finally the place to sing along to the radio, belt out sudden opera pieces, and sing to just enjoy himself.  
  
He didn't expect to hear someone behind him join the duet after he was done singing the female part- he sung the song from beginning and he very much planned to keep going until the end. The interruption was rude, and he turned angrily to see a smug gentleman perched on a branch, leaning against the trunk, the deep voice echoing across man's chest before the rich love declarations reached Wilson's ears. Wilson wasn't some purist, but hearing that smoky voice sing the promises of eventful night (and changing the words to be much more crass than the already direct original!) couldn't _not_ bring a crimson color to his face. He wasn't sure what to do, as Maxwell kept going at his verse, and expectantly looked at him when he started the chorus, which the pair should sing together. Wilson did not join. 

No, instead, he walked right over, brought out his shiny golden axe and swung.

The rattle of the tree thankfully shut the man up, but making him leave his seat as a result. Damn it. Wilson really wanted to see the guy topple to the ground with the goddamn tree. 

"Now pal, I thought we were having a good time?"

"I _had_ , but someone interrupted me."

"Oh, but I thought you'd be glad to have someone to share the song with. I quite liked that one too."

"You messed up the words anyway."

Wilson was purposefully ignoring the man behind him, too busy cutting down trees. He gathered logs and stuffed them into his backpack, always turning away from the steps following him. He heard the familiar shadows rushing and the air filled with cigar smoke. 

"You seem to be really unlucky today, pal."

"Wonder why." He grunted in response.  
  
A satisfied hum from the taller guy and Wilson was back to work. At some point, he stopped hearing the steps behind him and dared a glance- The Puppet Master was sitting on a chair made of shadows, staring him down with uninterested expression. With that eternal cigar in his hand. 

It was uncomfortable the entire time. Wilson kept working, sweating bullets in the Autumn sun, working away at the very unscientific task. After his backpack filled, he continued chopping, simply leaving the trees on the ground. 

And the bastard was _still_ watching. 

Wilson filled his mind up with formulas and theories instead, working mindlessly and paying no mind to the demon behind him. 

Suddenly, he felt a gloved hand on his back, and swung the axe reflexively. He managed to struck the man, who, much like the shadow creatures, swirled in a smoky mess before reappearing close by. His heart now racing, he kept still as the man approached him again with a deathly expression. Didn't dare to move a muscle when the demon reached his hand up and grabbed delicately a strand of hair to twirl it between his fingers.  
  
The silence, tense and charged, stretched on as Maxwell inspected his grizzled face, torn clothes and scoffed slightly. 

"The bird was right. You have nothing a gentleman would make sure to own."

Before he managed a retort, Maxwell snapped his fingers and Wilson was consumed in black flame. It blinded him for one panicked second, and when he regained his bearing, Maxwell was gone. 

Wilson himself was sporting a completely new set of his own clothes- the very same fitted pants, red vest and shirt, except they looked (and felt) like he got them straight from the tailor. His head wasn't itching with dirt caked on it anymore and he ran a hand through his hair, then inspected his clean and cut nails. 

Well, that's pretty nice. Taking care of yourself in this place is near impossible, and he can always use a little cleanup, especially that quick. Maybe this day wasn't so bad after all. 

\------------------  
  
He returned to his camp with the cage open and bird gone, and a heaping pile of durians stinking up the entire place. 

And a brand new _actual razor_ , folded neatly along with a little note. 

He read it once and threw it into the fire pit to be burned later. 

_"Shave sometimes you boar."_


	23. Boo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fic I wrote a while ago, at first was supposed to be posted separately, then I wanted to finish it before posting, but that would be like 3rd of those. So you're getting what I managed to finish, other stories will be edited and posted later. If I continue, it will be mentioned. 
> 
> Wilson is an idiot. I love him very much. But I am in fact still an angsty teenager and wanted to write this, and since no one bothered to stop me I did. So, Ghost AU

Everything was behind a fog. Hidden and unreachable, and he tried his best to tear through it. What is going on? He can't remember. The pain he's feeling in his stomach is burning and biting however, and he cannot fight with the clenching muscles. What is that feeling?

He tries to remember but his thoughts are swimming among the fog. Wake up. He's been working on... Something. 

He forgot to check for newspapers for few days so he went down but found none. No letters as well. 

He tried to go back up to the lab, and ignored the grumbling in his body-

Ah. 

The pain is hunger. He hasn't eaten in days. That would also explain why he decided to take a nap on the floor after he fell down the stairs. 

He was pretty sure he was sitting now, and his head bonked on the side of the wall. He was so dizzy. He can't remember what happened. He... He didn't overdo it, right? It's impossible, he could be a bit unkind to himself sometimes, but he refused to believe he would kill himself like this.  
  
He tried to find strength to get up. _Think of your work. There are experiments to finish._

That seemed to send a shock of energy through him. Just enough for him to realize that the wall he rested on was in fact still the floor and he barely moved an inch since he awoke. C'mon. Get up. Go to the kitchen. Find something to eat. Then you can rest. 

Moving was taking him months, getting up required a century, and by the time he was finally in the kitchen a millenium has passed. The fridge was buzzing lowly, sucking on the electricity provided to the small shack with few cables stretched underground. He reached his hand, but the effort was too much. He could feel his body falling forward, so he jerked himself back, his other hand lurching towards the counter. 

The hand was too short. How?

It managed to hit the edge of the knife he tossed there carelessly sometime... ago...

He barely blinked before he was on the floor, his head full of pain, blinded only by the throbbing cut on his leg. No. No. This is not the moment. 

He tried to reach towards the wound, to apply pressure, but he couldn't, it was too far, his hand too short, his leg too long-

And honestly, it didn't hurt that bad. Maybe he could rest a bit more. _But he has work!..._ Desperation tugged at him again, and he managed to roll onto his side, his attempt at getting up discarded by the world as a wave of nausea tossed his body back to the floor. The cold tiles were blinding him, but his eyes were closed, and he tried to reach towards the leg, _which leg, he needs to find the cut-_

Wilson gasped several times more, before sleep overtook him and he gave up on fighting. He'll rest just a second, then fix it up...

\--------------------

The plot of land Maxwell bought was fairly cheap, and it was just perfect distance from the town- barely twenty minutes of a calm walk, perfect for him to take breaks between his shows. He got the builders there ready, attaching his new plot to the central heating and electric line. He would make his mansion here, to spend calm afternoons and breaks between shows. After all, as a man of success, he deserved his reward for the hard work. 

He texted Charlie to ask how her family time is going and she sent him a photo of her niece playing with a dog. Cute indeed, he responded, and thought about his own family- they haven't seen each other since over three months ago. He was quite busy with his new house in the making, and Jack was a working man after all. They had a hard time accommodating to each other's routines, contacting through phone mostly. 

He checked if the windows of the hotel were covered, then splayed himself across the couch. He could afford to relax a little, but he didn't need any nosy journalists poking into his private life. 

He was about to turn on YouTube when an unknown number called. He almost shut it down, but remembered he allowed the workers to call him in case of emergency. 

"Hello?"

"Yes, mister... Carter, was it, right?"

"Yes, that would be correct."

"Okiee, well, we seem to, ah... Have a problem on tha site."

Maxwell sighed. It seemed there always was trouble with the place he bought- first finding some remains of a ruined house, which had to be fished out and recycled and now this. 

"Well, what happened?"

"Uh, bones, mister Carter."

"What do you mean bones? It's a house in the forest, there could be some dead animal's bones around. That's, dare I say, pretty normal."

"Human bones I mean. We're not sure I guess, but it looks like it? Buried somewhere in the back, while we were digging to get the garden space set, and found 'em. What do we do?"  
  
Maxwell rubbed his nose tiredly. He just wanted to have a house, but the world seemed to be vividly against it.

"Contact the police, obviously. What would I know about dealing with human bones? It's not like I collect them or something!"

He might have snapped a bit. But to hell with it, he just wants to have somewhere to go instead of jumping between hotels. And to have a place he can invite Jack and his family to. Not deal with some guy that was murdered by the previous owner of the land.

\--------------------

Maxwell was well moved in, by the time he started noticing strange things. His power would sometimes shut off, many times he had to call for fixing, the person claiming someone was messing with the cables. 

His house appliances would randomly turn on, making a noise and often a mess. The doors would slam shut, he would hear whispered words and soft giggles, his dreams plagued by hunger. 

He tried to reason with himself, find explanations, but when the sobbing echoed across his mansion while he was watching Coco with his nieces, he decided this can't be a trick of mind. His magic might be just shadow and light gimmicks, more act of confidence than actual spells, but he couldn't doubt this wasn't normal. 

He tried to read on the internet, he tried books, he asked Charlie. She replied jokingly, that he should try an Ouija board. He laughed along, their dinner void of talks about poltergeists after that, but when slightly buzzed with wine at home, he ordered one online. Wouldn't hurt to try. 

\-------------------

Wilson was floating gently along the wall, looking at the inbuilt lights changing colors softly, as the man that took up residence where his house used to stand unpacked some wooden box. The guy was funny- full of himself and standoffish, but honest and had heartwarming moments of kindness. He almost felt bad for messing with him so much. Almost. Wilson just wanted to understand how things worked. He was gone for so long, science went so far! The man owned a hot tub and a sauna, something that Wilson wouldn't dream of putting in a private house. The most incredible however were the boxes. The flat one, the big one, the tiny one he kept in his pocket and the other flat one, on the wall. He assumed it was a television, but the quality was astounding! And some of the things it showed looked real and not real at the same time. He tried figuring them out many times, but they seemed to be extremely complicated and his slightest interference seemed to break them. The fact he could barely interact with the world not helping.

The guy, Maxwell, seemed to finish setting up the thing he unpacked. It was some sort of wooden plank, with letters and numbers on it. Boring, compared to what he learned was an automaic coffee brewer. Maxwell lit a candle as well, turned off the fun color changing lights and sat before the plank.

"Okay... How does one do it..."

Wilson leaned in, curious.

"EkHM. Are you here, spirit?"

Wilson stepped to the other side of the board and waved his hand in front of the man.

"Yeeeeeeeeees. Yes I am. Hello? Hear me? Why are you asking if you can't hear the answer?"

The man was still staring at the plank. Only then did Wilson notice some wooden accessory, with a round hole in the middle. Maxwell appeared to be expecting something from it, and Wilson dared to nudge it with his finger. To his delight and Maxwell's shock, it moved slightly. Old man leaned a bit away, and Wilson in turn grabbed at the wooden part with excitement. It seemed stuck to the board- he couldn't lift it up, only slide along the plank. Curious. He slid it to the word 'yes'. Maxwell took a shaky breath, then gulped and spoke up.

"What do you want?"

Honestly, he wasn't sure. He had no reason to stay, he kept around his old house before it fell into ruin, and just woke up when this one was built, but there was nothing he really wanted. Except maybe understanding how all the stuff that appeared during his absence worked. The plank worked as if it was magnetic, the wooden block sliding a bit slowly. He better finds some way of shortening his message, because moving that thing was a bit troublesome.

"K... N... O... W... Knowledge?"

Bingo! What a smart old man, Wilson snorted.

"What kind of knowledge? I don't have much to offer."

Well, that's easy. He spelled the quick word. But the wooden block kept getting heavier. 

"All?! What do you mean, all the knowledge? That can mean so many things. You have to be more specific, pal."

Guh. Maybe he should, but communicating like this was pretty hard. Especially with the thing he was using getting near immobile. He tried to spell out "new", but the block stopped on it's way towards letter 'e' and his hand passed right through. Sigh. He hoped they could get along, but it seemed he won't even have a chance. He felt weirdly tired. Just like after he managed to throw a pen off the guys desk once. Maxwell kept waiting, and Wilson dared to try again pushing the block but his hand didn't imapct the block at all. Sighing, he jumped to float a bit, and looked as the man's forehead creased even more and started asking him if he was still there. 

No need to hang around. He can just go sleep on the guys enormous bed and wait until his strength comes back. 

\---------------

"Why won't you respond?!" 

When the block didn't move again, he jumped onto his feet and kicked the damn board. How can a ghost just straight up admit it's there and not answer afterwards?! He didn't build his house here to just have it haunted for no goddamn reason! 

He has to find some different ways of contacting it. He snuffed out the candle and asked his house AI to turn the lights back on, then sat in front of his PC. His search led him to a bunch of sketchy sites and stupid Tumblr blogs made by bored kids, but he got some info. He ordered what he needed and wrote down a list of questions he will ask when he tries again. First, how many are there, the name (names?), age...

What a headache. Maybe he should forget it. The ghost just messed with his stuff from time to time, there's no need to contact it after all, it was all stupid from the beginning...

Sighing, he turned his computer off and went to bed. He couldn't sleep on his usual side because no matter how tight he brought the covers around himself, the shivers wouldn't stop. 


	24. Boo 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghost AU continuation

Boooooring. Boring. 

Wilson was flying slowly along the ceiling, watching spiders and dust. There was just nothing to do in this place, he still couldn't interact with stuff much. And Maxwell packed a big case full of his gadgets a week ago and left.

That was pretty normal, people go out for vacation from time to time. Except the guy had no work- he was just lazing around his house the entire time he was there, inviting over Charlie (what a lovely woman!) and his family. The parents were a couple of brooding bores, but his brother with his adorable daughters were a delight. Even with his awful moustache, the man was a true ray of sunshine, and Wendy and Abby duo had to be the most adorable pair of kids he ever met, and he met the Bartholomew Webber back in his days, so the bar was quite high. 

And now his only source of entertainment was gone, probably sunbathing at some beach while he was getting bored out of his mind.  
  
Why was he even hanging around? He was dead after all, shouldn't he like, pass on to another world or something? If all people stayed behind as ghosts it would be pretty crowded. Kind of pointless. He was a man of science anyway, so he gained nothing from becoming a ghost himself. Except maybe watching the spiders and talking to himself. Or checking out walls from inside. 

He sighed and slowly floated down to the couch. He couldn't really register it feeling any different than the air, but it made him feel even a little bit normal to do stuff properly. 

\-----------------------

It's been two weeks. Wilson was going positively crazy. Alone. Alone. Nothing to do. Not even the most basic things. He doesn't have to breathe. He doesn't have to eat. How ironic. 

Everyone forgot about him back then too. Even the mailman. And it seems like Maxwell, the only person that contacted him for the entire century just trotted right out and wouldn't return. 

He was feeling like back when he woke up in his actual house. Thinking he can go back to work, overseeing his own dead body laying in a pool of blood. So fucking alone. 

He always wanted to be alone. Because people were awful. Because people didn't like him. Because he didn't like them. Because he had better things to do.

Now he had nothing. 

Forgotten by the world. Forgotten by family. By a mailman. By townsfolk. His body was half rotten by the time some burglar came in and vomited after seeing it. He owed that guy, honestly- he picked his disgusting pile of flesh and bones and buried it in the garden. He even gave him a minute of silence. Then stole his fridge. Wilson wasn't mad. Not like he will need it. 

And now forgotten by Maxwell. Of course. No one remembered Wilson to even try looking for him. Why would the guy he knows just from breaking his shit be of any importance to the great asshole man?!

Wilson kicked at the table. It squeaked slightly as it moved a fraction of an inch. Hah. Great job Wilson, as always, _massive_ impact on the world. 

\-----------------

Wilson was raging. He was blind again, the fog thick and tasting like death. He tore through another layer of obstacles, looking for anything he can use to release the anger that pushed tears out of his eyes, made his leg pulse with dripping blood, his fingers tingle with recurring and disappearing feeling, his stomach rumbling like an avalanche. He tore at the cloth he found in his arms, he threw objects appearing in his hands, he screamed and sobbed and cursed and laughed. 

What a disgusting existence. He want to be gone already. Forgotten. Abandoned. A disappointment to everyone, himself included. Now won't even die properly. He just had to fuck up even that. He shoved his body against the wall, for once being stopped by the mass. He tripped into a chair and it fell under his weight. He quickly got back up- he hates laying on the floor. The fridge was jerked open by the unseen hand and every single object inside became a victim to his rage. 

This goddamn food. Pointless shit that cost him his goddamn life. He found the drawer with knife section. And the knife holder somewhere on the counter. Ripped them all out and threw them out the window, shattering the glass.

He screamed but his throat wouldn't get raw, his breath wouldn't shorten and his tears wouldn't run out. 

\---------------------  
  
Maxwell came back to his house to an absolute mess. His furniture was upturned, various liquids spilled on every surface _including_ the ceiling and a transparent man with crazy hair napping on his kitchen counter. He looked distressed, and was sobbing through his sleep. 

He didn't manage to contact the ghost before he left for his tour, but it seems like it decided to show himself on it's own. In quite extravagant way. 

It sobbed loudly, then curled up more. It's tears would trail down it's cheeks then fall out of existence. It's blood, oozing from a wound on it's leg, was met with the same fate. 

He desperately wanted to wake the ghost up and talk… but the pain it seemed in clawed at his heart in a very specific way. He went upstairs to unpack instead. 

When he got back down, the man was gone. 

\---------------------

He could feel the tension in the air after he cleaned up, ordered to fix his window and bought again all the broken stuff. Sitting on the couch, the TV off, he stared into space and pondered what now. He put out the Ouija board but it laid unmoving, the supposed magical notebook allowing ghosts to write in still empty. He saw the ghost. It was real. He was real. He didn't expect the guy haunting his house to be just... Some dude. He assumed it would be some type of horrid cryptid speaking languages and hoping to eat his soul. Instead, he got a really short and angry Brit. 

He didn't even have a way to check if he was there. The phone apps were bullshit, and after quick inspection the amulet turned out to be made of plastic. The guy was nowhere to be seen. 

He sighed and closed his eyes, then laid down on the couch fully. What made the fellow angry enough to wreck his kitchen? Why does Maxwell care? He should just call an exorcist and get it out. 

"Hey. Are you going to talk to me now?"

Nothing. Of course. 

"I got what I could. Answer me."

Nothing in his house dared to move.  
  
"For fuck's sake! You destroyed my kitchen and won't even tell me why?! Grow some balls you ectoplasm drip!"

That got him a reaction. One of the magnets suddenly dropped from the fridge. Good. If making him angry will get him to talk then that's how it will be.

"Yes! Precisely! Get the fuck over here and explain yourself!"

A door to one of the cabinets opened and slammed shut again. Lights flickered for just a moment.

"Are you trying to scare me?! Well guess what, I'm not afraid! As if you hadn't fucked shit up enough before, you can do better than flickering lights and shaking drawers! Come on!"

The TV turned on and Ouija board was flipped over. He was on his feet now, flight or fight response ready to blare commands to him. Then he heard it. 

"...just about .... had it! ....ink you are?!"

"Say it to my face, pussy!"

He got a fist on the nose instead. As he fell back on the couch, more from shock than the force of the hit, he was met with the same transparent bush of hair and a furious snarl, the man rubbing his fist. He got up slowly, holding his face, then carefully checked his palm- there was no blood, thankfully.

"How nice of you to show up. Want to explain yourself?"

"I have nothing to tell you, fopdoodle! Eat shit!"

Maxwell's plan was to enrage the ghost, but his own patience was running thin. 

"As if I know what that means, now-"

"By eat _shit_ , I meant I want to you to take a big old _crap_ , take it in your hand and-!"

"I know what _that_ means! Now pray tell, why are you in my house!"

"Because it's _my_ house!!! Used to be!!! I was fine, but then you built your fucking palace on top of it and suddenly I'm back to see you jerk while listening to jazz! What is wrong with you anyway?!"

Max would have shouted back but he was too flabbergasted by the ghosts apparent voyeuristic tendencies. The ghost seemed to catch on as well and float down a bit, it's face now just a little less transparent. A blush, perhaps?

"The point is, you are in no place to be making demands. You signed up for it, it's your problem. Also, respect the dead, would you?" The end of the sentence was dripping with sarcasm and Maxwell _almost_ laughed.

"Not until you stop messing with my shit. I can't see you most of the time anyway, so just don't break my stuff and we can forget about each other!"

"Just like you forgot about me?! Well guess what, you're not the first one!"

Again, caught off guard, Maxwell kept quiet. The guy seemed to realise what he said and just went over to kick the notebook. It went flying, and the ghost snorted with satisfaction.

"Your name."

"What?"

"Tell me your name, before you disappear again."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Don't I have a right to know who I'm even living with?"

"It's Wilson, Mr Carter."

Silence again. The Wilson guy appeared to flicker a little, and he swung his fist against the wall to stabilize his picture. Hissed with pain, then glanced at his bleeding leg. 

Speaking of the leg. It didn't drip on his carpet or anything, but it was quite a disturbing sight. The pant leg was cut open, a flap of material hanging and leaving the wound for Maxwell to see. It was a clean cut, long and diagonal to the bone. Certainly went through some important arteries or something, Maxwell wasn't good at that stuff. It was steadily flowing with blood that was just a nontransparent whitish blue color, soaked in to the fabric and the shoe.

Wilson glared at him angrily again, then sighed. 

"I'm sorry for destroying your kitchen. I was just angry. I won't do that again."

Then, in a blink of an eye, he was gone again. 

Maxwell turned off the TV, grabbed his phone and searched for an exorcist.


	25. A spoonful of pointless fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The amount of dark fics in this fandom terrifies me

It was blissful. The college was finally over. He was tired, so tired. Didn't bother with pants or shirt, just sitting in his underwear and blanket at the table, eyes still adorned with dark bags, even after the long sleep. 

Drinking warm tea, mind so wonderfully blank and unthinking, Wilson stared off into space, just letting the sensations flow through him. Warm cup, fresh air, light blanket, steps approaching...

Weight dropped on his head, as Max let his chin rest on his hair. Not aggressively, mind you, careful to not jab the pointy thing into scientist's biggest asset. Maxwell usually told him off about this and mentioned something about ass sets but Wilson lost this train of thought as long arms sneaked around him to squeeze, a small peck pressed into his bush of hair from above. 

They stay in silence and Wilson closes his eyes, then reaches his own hand behind to grab whatever he can reach (side, just a bit above the hip) and squeeze back. 

When Maxwell stops leaning on him to nudge him in the direction of the couch, tea becomes forgotten and legs have to regain their feeling. He's lead carefully, almost patronizingly across the room, but he really doesn't care. His previously empty head is filled with countless recollections of hugs and embraces, and even though the collective time spent plastered to his boyfriend must be counted in weeks now, he still can't wait until they reach their goal these few steps away.

They sit down, and he's being cradled like a baby, at which he adjusts the blanket to wrap them both up. The moment he's done he reaches as far as he can around the spidery body of his boyfriend and lets the bony frame poke into his own. He'll get this man to eat properly, now that he can actually take care of himself as well. 

Head nestled against the neck is soon supporting another head, and they stay like this. 

At some point they will start talking, then joking, and then they will get all excited and it will be time to get up anyway and the day will go on. But for now, they can rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually know what people want or don't want to read.


	26. Stay asleep a bit longer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some AU. Nothing specific

Among the foggy, rippling dimension of his subconsciousness, Maxwell found himself in the dark woods again. Somehow, he ended up in this place over and over, each time after he went to sleep after his show. The nights of which he wasn't walking around aimlessly among the trees were getting scarce, and slowly he came to accept his nightly adventures, no matter the tiredness that tended to longer long after he woke up.

He doesn't recognize the part of the woods he woke up in this time. There's a beaten path, wide enough for an automobile to pass between the trees.

He chooses to go opposite of where the sun is creeping, fast enough for him to notice shadows moving on the ground. Walks slow steps, knowing he won't reach anything he might remember in the morning. After all, has he ever found worth noting in the forest before?

In the back of his head, a blurred image of a butterfly filled clearing flickers softly, then disappears.

The woods are dark, and keep getting darker with the sun moving hastily across the sky. Various birds scream in distance, and he can distinguish a staccato of a woodpecker at work. Light hits some distant pool of water, the reflection hitting him straight in the eye.

He doesn't stop walking, moving under the thick roof of leaves of all kinds, shielding burrows of forest animals and bushes filled with fruit. Mushrooms catch his eye from time to time- his parents loved picking the damn things in the season, dragging their kids along even if only to make them carry full baskets.

A fond memory, despite everything. His head fills with songs he used to sing with them, and suddenly all the world sounds stir, as if it wanted to sing along, gusts of wind rustling the leaves to join in and short little tweeps of birds flying by sounding like a cue to start. He humoured them only slightly, letting a hummed version of whichever song came over him out into the dreamt world.

The path which lead him was getting softer, sand and rocks letting for the simple dirt mixed with moss to take over, framed on the sides by tall nettles. Evergreens became more common, and the sky darkened rest of the way, bringing the weak light of the moon rushing across the sky. Slightly covered with the same cloud he saw approaching back when he first appeared, his way was mostly invisible despite his eyes long since used to the dark.

So he slowed down even more, careful, hesitant steps carrying him through the night. The nocturnal animals awoken, skittering out of his sight, distant sounds of owl's call or a hasty escape. He breathes deep and remembers how it feels to be hunted, not by nature but by debt collectors, attacked, not by enemies but strangers at bars and his own shows, his climb towards success, difficult and harsh, but making friends along the way.

The night will pass soon, he reminds himself, and almost sees his own reflection, clad in light purple and fixing round glasses. The darkness will end.

So he shuffles forward, without much grace or purpose, glances occasionally at the dark sky where stars change their arrangements every time he looks away, and almost lets some strange form of relaxation fill his bones.

When he bumps into a tree, he takes the opportunity to sit down and rest, even though he feels no agitation in his joints or tension in the muscles. Every now and then he remembers it's all a dream, and the waking world creeps behind the yellowed pages of his night visions, but a slow hum of the sleeping forest coaxes him right back.

So he watches whatever sky he can see through the branches, as moon takes it's bow across the sky and slowly turns towards the horizon, whispering of another fleeting day to come.

He waits patiently- he has waited his whole life for things that never came true, but this should be a promise to be kept.

Against the odds, he dozes within his own dream, and in the two minutes he closed his eyes for sun has already risen, the white light of the morning spread across the slowly waking forest. He gets up with the falling mist, slowly covering plants and rocks with smallest water droplets which cling to his clothes and weigh him down.

But he keeps walking- there's no point in staying, never is. Whether it's moving your show for another crowd, or running from debt collectors, staying in one place tends to be the worst one can do.

The scenery rarely changes. No human structures around, signs or markings, only fallen logs around to contrast growing upward trees. There's barely color in the land mixed of green and brown, only some bushes full of dark fruits to break the rows of woods.

Morning quickly turns from pale white into bluish hues and the world is wide awake yet again. Birds pick up their silenced tunes, squirrels shuffle around and small animals crawl in the underbrush.

For the first time in hours, something breaks the mold. He catches it with a corner of the eye- a smaller path, beaten by seemingly one person walking at a time, breaks off the main road. Overcome with fascination, he doesn't event falter when turning to follow it instead.

It's wiry and bumpy, goes around trees and through creeks, but he reaches a point where stones start dotting his path, evidently collected and arranged to mimic an actual paved road. It also seems to be a last stretch- somewhere ahead, he can see an arch.

As he gets closer, he can see it's surrounded by thick black hedge, the arch itself being grown with the very same black plant, unsupported by any construction. It's hard to call it inviting- it's dark color and curly, messy mass bring out words akin to "menacing" or "creepy" instead.

He tries to see around himself, if there is anybody to tell him what he's witnessing- but no life seems to reach this part of the forest. Doubt overcomes him, as the strange feeling of dread that creeped at him since he walked off the main trail bubbles up to his throat. No birds were singing close by, no bugs were buzzing while hidden in the dark bush, rustles of random movements never appearing. Somehow, he feels that crossing the arch will mean no return.

Soft whisper reaches him, one of a person he doesn't recognize. _It's just a dream_ it says, _what can go wrong?_

He clenches fists around the bottom ridge of his suit and marches in.

To his surprise, and somehow disappointment, the place is nothing remarkable. It's full of similar plants as the hedge- each of them reaching up to his neck or shorter, planted neatly in little groups.

He kneels next to one pocket separated from others by the rocky path, and reaches his hand into the black bush. The entire thing is black, black... No leaves, no discernable stems. Only a mess, like strings, tangled together in undesigned chaos, mass of black covering the ground and growing in random directions.

The only little thing that made it worth existing, the littlest, smallest blessing it brought were tiny specks of blue. Tiny, but numerous little buds of partially unfurled petals, hiding amongst the growth and on it's surface.

He doesn't know what flower it is, he has never seen a bush like that before. He inspects it closely, but doesn't dare to pick a flower off the plant.

When he gets back up, there's to notice that every one of the bushes is filled with flowers. On each and exact same bush, grow any variations of flowers he's seen and hasn't seen before. Roses, violets, poppies, orchids, tulips, pelargoniums, daisies, snapdragons, marigolds... He loses count quickly.

They're arranged by random- many repeating in both groups of the same bushes gathered by color or type, shape or size. On one side the tulips drown in their bush of dark among other tall blooming flowers, on the other they're surrounded by all the plants the gardener found have the same hue. Organised, yet so cruelly discordant.

But it's a strange spell to be put under- all these different flowers, growing from the same kind of bush, one of no leaves or spikes, looking the same on top as they do near the ground. Inky black, swallowing the light that reaches them, which allows the vibrant colors to pop and almost levitate among the mass. He cannot stop looking.

Which also makes him wonder, how much of the flower is in it's stem- how strange does only head of the marigold look, without the green straw to support it. How rose lays defenceless without it's thorns. How he walks among the very same grass that builds the hedge now supporting every possible kind of flower.

He wanders again, but this time he looks closely- there's so much to see. He observes, and the silence deafens him, no birds for they have nowhere to sit or nothing to eat, no bugs and no animals. Even the wind doesn't have any leaves to rustle.

So the only sound that reaches him draws him close like a magnet, through the labirynth of the garden. He doesn't bother wondering what the sound was, he will learn soon enough.

He reaches the spot just as sun starts setting again. A short man is digging a hole in the ground, next to a group of bushes growing roses of various shades. His face, relaxed and tired, is covered halfway down with an enormous beard, a black, wiry mass of-

...-of hair. Hair, which is full of blooming roses, pink ones whitening on the ridges. A wave of discomfort overcomes Maxwell, as the man takes a straight razor into his dirt covered hand and roughly cuts the beard near his face, then takes the hair and arranges it carefully in the hole he just dug until the flowers point outwards, then covers the 'roots' with dirt and makes sure the whole new bush won't tip over.

After that, carefully shaves the rest of his crudely cut beard and sprinkles the shavings onto the ground, imitating grass.

As Maxwell watches in disbelief, the short man clad in a red vest gets up and dusts himself off. Then looks up at him in the fading light of the evening, and quietly says.

_"It's time to wake up."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know. My head wanted it to exist and I listened.


End file.
